


Unseen

by Nervawkward



Series: Balance [1]
Category: The Invisible Man (2020), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nervawkward/pseuds/Nervawkward
Summary: Here, now, time holds no meaning for him. He exists only in this moment: an arrow let loose with careless fingers, hoping for a target. He cannot stop. Lungs heaving, thighs burning with strain, he cannot stop. Stop and he will be caught. Be caught and he might as well die. He has not fought this long and this hard to die now.After the mountain, Jaskier is captured and experimented on by a Mage of Nilfgaard. Somehow, he escapes. Now if only he could bring himself to believe it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Balance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712881
Comments: 208
Kudos: 973
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	1. The Escape

**Author's Note:**

> So sometimes you get laid off in the midst of a global pandemic, watch the "The Invisible Man" with your newfound time, and decide to apply the plot to your current obsession.

He has no idea where he is.

His field of vision, obstructed as it is by a thicket of branches and winding flora, offers him no guidance. He trips over gnarled roots, feels the thorns as they catch on his clothes and send sharp clawmarks of pain singing along exposed skin. At some point he tumbles down a sharp embankment and into a shallow stream; icy, unforgiving, unimportant.

He scrambles upward. He runs.

Here, now, time holds no meaning for him. He exists only in this moment: an arrow let loose with careless fingers, hoping for a target. He cannot stop. Lungs heaving, thighs burning with strain, he cannot stop. Stop and he will be caught. Be caught and he might as well die. He has not fought this long and this hard to die now.

Jaskier runs, and prays and prays and prays to whatever gods may be listening that somehow his message has made it through. That Yennefer, powerful as she is, had felt even the smallest ripple of his distress call. He is only human, not particularly gifted in the art of magic, but Jaskier`s known her to do more with less.

Somewhere behind him, a crash, a bitten off howl of rage. Close, too close, and Jaskier feels a hollow sort of numbness set into the very marrow of his bones. He is flagging. The distance between them growing shorter. The mage will catch him, he'll _catch_ him, and he`ll send Jaskier back to that cold place. That overwhelming nothingness.

Held close like something dear, biting into the soft flesh of fingers and palm, Jaskier wields a shard of glass. He will not be taken again. If Rowan catches him, tries to bring him back, Jaskier will smile and spit in his face and draw that shattered shard of hope along his own throat. Rowan is powerful. Jaskier is only a bard, battered and malnourished and driven by the waning desperation of a man sentanced to be hanged.

He will not be caught again.

Briefly, achingly, he thinks of Geralt, of moments squandered, but he can`t afford to dwell - the crash of footsteps through underbrush, drawing closer. Bright spots sparking at the edge of Jaskier`s vision, a siren call to oblivion, and he prays for mercy, mercy.

And then, out the darkness: a light. Melitele preserve him, a _portal_ , shadowed by two familiar figures. Jaskier wheezes a manic sort of laugh, throws himself forward into fumbling hands and furrowed brows.

"Jaskier, what-" Geralt`s gruff concern is cut off by a flash of _something_ as it slams into Jaskier's back, searing and sending him careening further into the Witcher's hold.

He heaves a breath, shoves Geralt weakly back toward the portal even as his pupils blow wide and the Witcher tenses for a fight. "Go, Geralt, fuck, _please_. I can't, I can`t." 

Dimly, Jaskier feels his legs give out, feels himself hefted upright and cradled against a solid wall of muscle. He can hear Rowan shouting behind him, feel the electric tingle of magic begin to light him from within as the mage nearly reaches them. He hears Yennefer usher them hurriedly back, feels the dizzying swoop of a portal calling them away.

And then, thankfully, nothing.

~~~

Jaskier wakes, and he screams and screams and screams.

~~~

Wide hands holding him down, muffled voices blurring together into meaningless chatter. Terror, ugly and cold and terrible clawing its way out of his throat. His stomach flips and he turns his head to the side to be sick, but he hasn`t eaten in so long that the action brings him ony painful, unforgiving cramps and a pitiful mouthful of bile.

Jaskier feels a cool cloth pressed to the back of his neck and a calloused hand sweeping through his sweat soaked hair. He jerks away, does his best to pull himself into a tight ball and make himself as small as possible. He`s not felt kindness in so long now; he cannot trust it.

Darkness calls to him. He chases it.

~~~

Tendrils of magic, blooming and soothing, soft where he is jagged. A feather-light touch brushing through his mind, offering calm and solace. 

Jaskier rejects it. His mind is his own. He will not have it taken from him again, nor will he accept these misguided offerings. The magic retreats and leaves a whisper of sorrow in its wake.

~~~

Time crawls on and on, loops back in on itself, and it carries Jaskier unwillingly along. Everything hurts. He isn`t sure what`s real. He can`t afford to let himself hope, and yet he so desperately yearns to.

Yennefer is there, and he allows himself a cautious sort of belief. Then The Lion Cub of Cintra appears before him, and the belief fades.

Geralt shows up, features worn deep with concern, and Jaskier knows for sure. None of it is real.

~~~

Jaskier refuses to acknowledge the figure sat beside him. He knows how this goes. Apparently, the figure doesn`t. 

Gentle movements attempt to ease his hands from his hair, away from where Jaskier`s nails bite into his own scalp. Little pin points of pain, keeping him grounded. Keeping him present. 

He`s so, so confused. So disoriented and so tired of being exhusted.

"Jaskier, stop. You`re hurting yourself." A deep rumble of a familiar voice, vibrating comfort into Jaskier`s chest. It isn`t real. It can`t be.

He chokes out a laugh, then nearly chokes for real as the sound scrapes through his throat. "That is absolutely the _least_ of my worries, imaginary Geralt. But your concern is touching, truly. I might even write a ballad about it. `The White Wolf`s Bane`, maybe. `The Witcher`s Bane`? Or is that a plant. I think that may be a plant."

A quiet sigh, resigned where Jaskier had expected anger, exasperation. "Tell me what I need to do. What will help you believe this is real."

At that, Jaskier levels the illusion with a look. He can`t help himself. This shadow Geralt seems so sincere: disarming eyes locked onto Jaskier with an attentiveness that he only could have dreamed of, before. He finds himself wanting to say something sharp and biting, wanting to make the Witcher flinch and break his gaze, but he doesn`t have the energy to be as angry as he`d like.

Jaskier wilts. He lets out an unsteady breath. 

"I don`t know." It`s the most honest response he`s given yet, and it cuts to the core of him. He wants it to be real and he doesn`t. He`s a mess, a certified carriage wreck, and his concept of reality is tenuous at best. He`s escaped into the relative safety of his own mind for so long, only to be wrenched back into harsh reality and the cold stone at Rowan`s feet.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls his hands away from his hair. He tries to push himself to sitting, and is mortified to find that his arms lack the strength to support him. Geralt reaches to aid him, and Jaskier waves him off with a hot flush of shame burning at his face and chest. He settles for beng slumped against the pillows.

"If this is real," Jaskier`s voice catches; he pretends not have noticed. "if this is real, then what was the last thing you said to me? Before. Before all this- this shit."

Jaskier takes a breath, powers through it. "Rowan, he- he took what he wanted. But I wouldn`t let him have that. Not that." Not Jaskier`s most painful memory to be wielded against him. He`d kept it secret, safe, buried deep and aching.

Geralt finally looks away, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. Jaskier studies familiar features as the Witcher schools himself, body tense like he`s preparing for a fight. Geralt may be a great many things, but a coward he is not.

Amber eyes lock onto him, unwavering. "I told you if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands." Geralt clenches and unclenches his fist, allows his hand to hover over Jaskiers with halting, unsure movements.

Jaskier nearly jumps out of his skin as that wide hand catches his own. He watches with a detached sort of amazement as Geralt slots their fingers together. It`s the kindest touch he`s felt in so long. It`s overwhelming, and he wants it gone. It`s comforting and warm, and he desperately needs more.

"I didn`t mean it."

Jaskier can`t bring himself to look away from their hands. "I know."

"I was upset. And cruel." Pain and regret color Geralt`s words.

"You were." Jaskier's voice is thin, thready, and his vision begins to blur as he fights the hot tears threatening to fall. It`s too much. It`s more than he`s equipped to handle.

It`s real.

"I`m sorry." A gentle hand under his chin, guiding Jaskier`s face upward. He feels a stinging wetness on his cheeks, a calloused thumb sweeping it away. "I won`t ask you to forgive me."

"Good." Jaskier casts around widly for some sort of levity, some relief. "I won't. They don`t call me Julian `Cold and Unforgiving` Pankratz for nothing, you know. Toughest bard in the whole of Redania."

Jaskier barks out a laugh at the thought, tries to ignore the way it catches on a sob. "That`s probably why he chose me, ay Geralt? Why he kept me? Just wanted a bit of a challenge, is all."

Lungs like broken bellows, rapidly heaving yet bringing him no relief. Suddenly, he can`t catch his breath. He tries to laugh, tries to make light of it, but it`s all too much and too loud and not really funny at all. Jaskier tries to curl in on himself once more, attempts to pull his hand from Geralt`s grasp, but the Witcher is unrelenting.

He gathers Jaskier up, tucks the bard`s head under his chin and holds him tight, and Jaskier can`t deal with this. He gives in.

Geralt holds him as he sobs, a wretched, broken sound. Pulls him in tighter even when Jaskier knows he must be causing the Witcher discomfort- attempting to burrow into him as he is. It _hurts_ , gods it hurts, and he can hardly bear to be present even as he feels the gentle press of lips to his temple.

He cries, and Geralt holds him (and holds him and holds him), and when Jaskier is finally left exhausted and hollow and boneless in Geralt`s arms, he holds him still.

He drifts into a restless sleep. 

Geralt holds him.

~~~

Later, much later, when Jaskier finally has the strength to leave the bed and stumble around with the grace of a freshly born colt, he gets to know his newfound lodgings.

The cottage is small but secure. Cluttered but comfortable. Jaskier trails his fingers along the walls, reassured by the steady hum of Yennifer`s wards. The cottage is his sanctuary. He isn`t ready to go outside, not yet. 

"You know," Jaskier startles, not having realized Ciri`s presence, and watches a subtle flash of guilt steal across the girls` features. She clears her throat and starts again. "You know, I was scared when we first got here too."

Jaskier offers the girl a small smile. "Is that so?"

Ciri nods, painfully sincere. "I think I drove everyone a bit mad, to be honest. But then Yennefer showed me how the wards work. She even let me help strengthen them. The wards all the way out to the field are just as strong as the ones around the house, if you can believe it."

It isn`t that Jaskier doesn`t trust the wards. The thought of being so exposed, vulnerable from all angles, fills him with an icy kind of dread. He looks to the woods surrounding them and sees only places to hide, to camoflouge one`s self. Sees a thousand shadows where anyone might lurk, watching, and Jaskier would never even know.

Rowan would watch him. Even when Jaskier was unaware. _Especially_ when he was unaware.

Jaskier reaches to give Ciri`s hand a grateful squeeze. He appreciates the effort, he does, but he just can`t bring himself to cross that threshold. "I wouldn`t dream of doubting you for even a moment, my dear."

Ciri brightens. She flashes wide, hopeful eyes, innocent as a lamb's. "We could go outside for a bit? Geralt asked me to tend to the garden, and I`ve already picked all the apples for Roach that I could reach. _You_ could reach the higher ones, though." 

Subtle, the girl is not. He wishes he could give her this simple thing, this mole hill that feels so much like a montain. He wants to, but he can`t. So Jaskier does what he does best; he talks around it.

"Alas, any other day I`d be honored to accompany you, love, but it`s just a tad too sunny for me. A bard with such fair skin and dashing good looks as my own must always be wary." Jaskier gestures to his face with as much flair as he can manage. "Protecting the merchandise, and all that."

That earns him a rather undigninfied snort, but the girl has the good grace to accept the lie for what it is. "Maybe next time, then?."

"Next time." Jaskier feels warmth bloom in his chest for this child he`s only just met, still so determined and kind despite everything she`s been through. "If the weather allows."

~

Geralt and Yennefer return just after sundown. They both look exhausted, Geralt with arms laden. He dumps the various packages in an unceremonious heap on the table. "Got supplies."

"I see that." Jaskier shuffles closer, curious. It isn`t because of the tension he feels leaving his body with every step he takes toward the Witcher. "Boring, essential survival things, I`d imagine."

Geralt doesn`t roll his eyes, but Jaskier feels it anyway. "Mostly."

The Witcher shifts almost awkwardly, pulls one of the larger packages out of from under the pile and slides it toward Jaskier. "Picked you up a few things."

Once, Jaskier would have seized upon this opportunity to potentially embarrass Geralt with vigor and delight. These days he`s not quite sure where they stand. The nature of their relationship has changed, subtly but thorougly, and Jaskier is still learning where and how far to tread.

He tugs the twine around the package loose and feels a thrill of excitement at the veritable rainbow of silks he sees before him. "You got me clothes?"

Jaskier unfolds a turqouise doublet, trails reverent fingertips over the kind of little flourishes and embellishments he hadn`t realized Geralt had noticed he liked. He sets it aside carefully, shakes out the matching trousers and holds them to his waist. Once upon a time they may have fit him, but Jaskier can tell just by looking at them that they`ll slide right off his new too-skinny frame.

"They`re beautiful, Geralt, but they are a bit… roomy." He gives the trousers a pointed shake, offers Geralt a teasing smile. "Did they not prioritize tailoring and measurements in Witcher school?"

"Hm." Geralt huffs a gentle breath of amusement. "I must have fallen asleep during classes."

He reaches under the pile of clothes and tosses Jaskier a truly hideous belt, braided and plain. Jaskier holds the thing delicately between two fingers, and try as he might he cannot disguise his horror. He appreciates the gesture, he does, but _gods_.

"Geralt, my darling misguided Witcher, you can`t honestly expect me to wear this. It doesn`t go with _any_ of these outfits, and frankly I`m a bit offended on the clothes` behalf. They`ve done nothing to deserve this belt, Geralt. No one deserves this."

"No?" Geralt arches a brow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Guess you'll just have to work harder to gain the weight back."

Jaskier knows how he must look then, dumbstruck and blushing as Geralt`s true intentions hit him with all the subtlety of a brick. The fact that Geralt had gone through the trouble of trying to trick him into eating more, that he cared enough to invent such a silly and effective incentive, fills Jaskier with warmth.

He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to truly be cared for. To mean something to someone, enough to have them go out of their way in order to see you healed. But it`s easier to joke than it is to be sincere, so Jaskier plays up his false indignance with grandeur. 

"Geralt, you - you _manipulative_ minx, appealing to my superior fashion sense." Jaskier pokes the Witcher in the chest, hard.

Geralt snorts at that, but his eyes are kind. "I`m acquainted with your vanity, yes."

"Van- my _vanity_? Just because I don`t consider Wyvern viscera or what-have-you to be all the latest rage in fashion _hardly_ means-"

"This is cute." Yennefer, sounding unimpressed as ever, cuts him off. She tilts her head toward the kitchen. "Bard, come. We need to talk."

Jaskier feels the air go out of him all at once. He`d known, deep down, that the two of them had not ventured out simply for supplies, but he`d been loathe to acknowledge it.

"Right." He swallows down the fear threatening to build. It`s just a conversation. He can handle a conversation.

Yennefer wastes no time. She catches Jaskier`s gaze the second they`re seated, violet gaze solemn. "Rowan`s been captured. Brought to heel by Fringilla."

If she notices the way Jaskier tenses, the way his hands tighten into fists, she`s kind enough not to comment. Seated beside him, Geralt shifts almost imperceptibly closer. His knee knocks gently against Jaskier`s own, and the Bard is grateful for it.

Yennefer takes a breath. "He was testing experimental magic on humans, which you know. He`d been doing so without success, drawing unwanted attention to Nilfgaard and without Fringilla`s permission. She may be a sadistic hag, but she`ll not stand for that kind of disobedience. His days are numbered, thank the gods." 

Yennefer makes an aborted movement toward him, and Jaskier surprises himself by reaching across the table to take her hand. She looks taken aback for just a moment, blinks rapidly a few times before continuing. "Rowan is to be drawn and quartered in the public square, made an example of. He won`t be hurting anyone again."

And Jaskier…. Jaskier has dreamed of this moment. Wished for it with every fibre of his being. Whatever he`d expected to feel- elation, vindication- he only feels numb. It doesn`t change anything. Doesn`t change the sleepless nights he`d spent chained and alone, or those awful unending stretches of painconfusionterror when Rowan would carry out one his little experiments. It doesn`t erase the violations of his privacy, his body, his mind. Doesn`t heal or bring back the nameless few who`d borne the brunt of Jaskier`s disobedience when Rowan was feeling especially cruel.

He can`t think of a single thing to say that doesn`t make him seem pitiful or ungrateful or bitter. So he says nothing at all.

He sees something like understanding in Yennefer`s eyes, and she tightens her hold in his hand. "There is something else. And I think perhaps you`ve noticed."

At Yennefer`s nod, Geralt sighs. He pulls his medallion out from under his shirt and over his head, holds it in front of Jaskier.

Jaskier watches as it vibrates.

"Whatever he did to you, Jaskier… I don`t think you`re entirely human anymore."

~~~

Jaskier is outside for the third time in nearly a month when Geralt and Yennefer portal in, expressions grim. There`s a tension in Geralt`s shoulders that Jaskier hasn`t seen since he`d first arrived at the cottage.

"What is it?" He halts halfway through braiding Roach`s mane, slides his hand up to her withers. "What happened? Geralt?" 

Geralt shakes his head, mouth a hard line. "The _fucking_ coward killed himself." 

He snarls, disgusted, moves almost as if to walk away before turning back toward Jaskier. "Slit his own wrists just before the execution. Bled out before they could bring him back to face what he'd done."

"Geralt-" Jaskier reaches for the Witcher, numb.

Geralt jerks out of his reach, rounds on him with fury in his eyes, and all at once Jaskier is right back on that mountain. " _I wanted to see him suffer_."

Jaskier hates the cold thrill of fear that washes over him, the stumbling steps he takes backward until his shoulders bump Roach. Geralt would never hurt him, he knows, not on purpose. But his body knows no such thing, and it reacts accordingly. His breath comes rapidly, wheezing. His pulse loud and thundering in his ears.

"You think I didn`t want that too?" Jaskier`s voice is small, so much smaller than he`d like, and he watches as Geralt`s face falls.

"Fuck, Jaskier-"

"It`s fine." He looks anywhere but at Geralt, manages a few halting steps. "I`ll just go for a walk, yeah?"

He`s speeding forward before the Witcher can respond, trying not to listen as he hears Yennefer hiss, "Geralt, you _fucking_ moron. If he shuts down again…"

Tries not hear as Geralt responds in a tone thick with recrimination, "I know. Fuck, I know."

Jaskier makes it as far as the shed before he needs to sit down, catching his clothes and scraping his back on the rough wood. He wraps his arms around folded knees, rests his head upon them and tries to catch his breath. He closes his eyes, but the dizziness doesn`t abate.

He cries. He fucking hates himself, but there`s nothing for it. Jaskier sobs until he can barely breathe, until there`s nothing left, and when it`s finally finished he just… sits.

Jaskier`s not sure how long he stays there, but he comes back to himself with shoulders pressed to either side of him and a princess of Cintra at his feet. Geralt and Yennefer are silent, steady presences propping him up - understanding and unhurried, patient and peaceful.

Jaskier is so full of love for them that he can barely stand it.

He makes a show of clearing his throat, forced nonchalance. "Well, this is embarressing."

Nobody laughs, but all three of them smile. It`s enough.

~~~

"Oh, for- I`m telling you for the last time. _There is nothing there_."

"And I`m telling you there is." Yennefer nudges the dried flower toward him. "Again."

Jaskier grabs at the daisy non too gently, points it at the Witch. "This. Is nothing. If I possess _any_ magic, as you so insist, then it`s completely and utterly useless. _Why_ are we doing this, Yennefer. It`s not as though the three of you need any reinforcement."

"No," She agrees, "we don`t. But you _do_ have magic, Bard, whether you like it or not, and you need to learn to control it before it controls you. Would you allow a child to wander around with Geralt`s swords, even sheathed?"

"No, but -" Jaskier balks. "Hang on a second, am I the _wandering child_ in this scenario?"

Yennefer doesn`t even try to hide her grin. "You`re the wandering child in every scenario. Try it again."

Jaskier tries it again.

At the end of their session, even Yennefer is frustrated. Head in her hands, speaking more to the table than Jaskier, she sighs. "We`ll go over the facts one more time, yes?"

She thrusts one delicate finger upward. "Rowan`s experiments were intended to use humans as conduits of chaos, meant to burn through them so he might reserve his own power."

"Disposable meat batteries, yes." Jaskier nods.

" _Somehow_ ," A second finger joins the first. "despite overwhelming failure and some truly horrific abominations of nature, he finally nearly succeeds."

Jaskier gestures to himself. "Me. And then I fuck it up."

A third finger ticking off the facts. "And then you fuck it up."

Yennefer sighs. "As near as I can tell, whatever the reason, the chaos didn`t burn through you as it did the others. But it never left you either. Rowan couldn`t access it, and you couldn`t let go of it if you tried." 

She levels Jaskier with what he`s sure is meant to be an intimidating stare, but they`ve lived together too long now for it to have any effect. "You`re positive you have no fae blood? Elven, perhaps?"

"Not that I`m aware of. Although there _are_ a lucky few who might consider me a Siren." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and doesn`t even protest when Yennefer sends a small shock shooting through his fingers. "Ow."

"I can`t understand why we can`t access it. Unless…" She stops, considering. "Unless it`s because you don`t want to, Jaskier."

Jaskier throws his hands wide, incredulous - `unless he doesn`t want to`. "Of _course_ I don`t want to, Yen, _why_ would I _want_ to?!"

He pushes back from the table, shoves his hands through his hair before sliding them down over his face. Finds himself pacing in a tight circle in an attempt to quell the sudden hysteria he feels building in his throat. "Yennefer, he- he _put_ this thing in me, this thing I never wanted, and I can't. Can`t stand the thought that's it`s inside of me. That something of _him_ is still inside of me."

Jaskier gestures to his chest with a shaking hand. "For fuck`s sake Yen, has he not done enough? Is it not enough, just to know? Do I really have to _feel_ it? To feel it, and know when it comes right down to it that it`s his?"

"It isn`t, though, Jaskier. Not anymore." Yennefer`s eyes are kind, so kind, and Jaskier can`t bear to meet them. "He may have done this to you, Jaskier, but Rowan is _gone_. You`re still here."

"Am I?" Jaskier smiles, and he knows it`s ugly. He shrugs. "Certainly doesn`t feel that way."

"You don`t have to feel that way, not yet. I know it to be true. As does Geralt. As does Ciri. Let us carry that for you until you`re ready. And in the meantime, Jaskier… please let me help you take this one thing back. Let me help you make it yours."

Jaskier picks up the flower. He tries it again.

Later that night, anxious and sleepless, he wanders into the kitchen to give it another go. The flower is already gone.

He heads back to bed. His dreams, when they come, are filled with Rowan. In them the Mage wields a single dried daisy.

~~~

"Geralt, love, I don`t suppose you`ve seen my songbook? I swear I`d left it just there."

"Hm. No." Geralt doesn`t look up from polishing the sword he`s rested across his thighs. "Been busy."

Jaskier snorts. "Oh, clearly. Forgive me. And what, may I ask, is so arresting about the weapon strewn about your admittedly fetching thighs?"

Geralt`s movements falter for just a moment, and Jaskier grins. Amber eyes beseech him. "Do you have to do that?"

"Have to do what, darling. I`m afraid you`ll have to be more clear." Jaskier seats himself on the lounge beside Geralt, propping his chin in his hand.

"That." A soft growl of frustration, a furtive look at the room`s two other occupants. He lets his voice drop, nearly a rumble. "The. The flirting."

Jaskier bats his eyes in feigned shock. "I`m sure I've no idea what you mean."

He does. Gods, he does. The one thing he`s been able to take away from all this, the one positive, is all the time spent with Geralt. Over the months the Witcher has let down his guard more and more, especially when it`s just the two of them. And he can place the blame on Jaskier all he`d like, but Geralt is every bit as guilty of lingering looks and touches as Jaskier is of overt verbal invitations.

"Right." Geralt heaves a good-natured huff of air. He sheaths the sword. "Happy?"

And Jaskier just smiles, because he is. In this moment he really, truly is.

He watches as the planes of Geralt`s face soften, notices the light flush creeping up the Witcher`s neck from his chest. "You`re impossible."

"I could say the same about you, you know."

"Would you?" Geralt arches a brow, eyes soft.

Jaskier opens his mouth to respond, but Yennefer beats him to it. She stands with a dramatic flourish. "Right, that`s quite enough for me, I think."

She motions for Ciri to get up from her studies. "Ciri and I are off to bed. You two… frankly I don`t care what you do, but you need to sort it out. Whatever this thing is between you, it`s- and I mean this from the very bottom of my heart- absolutely revolting."

Yennefer smoothes her hands over her skirts, nods as though she`s satisfied with her declaration. "Goodnight gentleman. Sleep well. Or don`t." With that she grabs Ciri`s hand, and they`re off.

Jaskier wants to be offended, but he ends up laughing so hard it hurts. He wraps his arms around his middle, tips over until he`s leaning into Geralt`s side. After a moment he feels the Witcher`s arm snake around his waist, tugging him closer.

"Think she has a point?" Geralt rests his cheek on top of Jaskier`s head, voice fond as Jaskier fights a losing battle to defeat his residual giggles.

He grabs the Witcher`s free hand with a wide smile, traces the callouses on his fingertips and the top of his broad palm. "Well I`m certainly not one to doubt the wisdom of a witch. Bad luck, that."

"Hmm. Having known you for more than five seconds, I`d have to disagree."

"Rude." Jaskier tilts his head back with full intentions of being dramatic, but stops short when he notices the Witcher hasn`t pulled back in kind. This close, he can see the striations in those yellow-gold eyes. 

No one could possibly blame him for stretching upward, pressing a chaste kiss to the hinge of Geralt`s jaw.

Something in the Witcher`s expression shatters. He pulls his hand out of Jaskier`s and places it along the Bard`s cheek - delicate, like he`s a fragile thing that Geralt`s afraid to break. He runs the pad of his thumb along Jaskier`s lower lip, following its path with his gaze.

"You scare the shit out of me, Jaskier."

It`s not what he expects Geralt to say, but Jaskier supposes that`s on him. "And that`s… good? You like scary things, Geralt. You`ve made your whole career out of them." Speaking had displaced Geralt`s thumb from his lips, so Jaskier puts it back where it belongs.

Geralt smiles, soft. "I-"

And that, of course, is when one of the burning logs in the fireplace comes tumbling out onto the rug.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Jaskier scrambles to his feet, but Geralt, thank the gods, is faster. He's tossing the log back and stamping out the smoldering rug in the time that it takes Jaskier to grab a mug of whatever liquid is closest. "Huh."

Geralt eyes him with a smirk, nods toward the mug in Jaskier's hand. "That your plan? Grain alcohol on an open flame?"

"Yyyes, because I was testing you." Jaskier places the stuff down carefully. "Your Witcher senses, I mean. They seem to be keen as ever. Top marks."

"Hm."

The moment is clearly passed, but Jaskier finds he doesn't mind. They`ve got time.

~~~

He wakes with a strangled shout, unease curling in his gut. Someone is watching him.

Jaskier`s room is near pitch this time of night, only the softest of moonlight filtering in through the small window, but he doesn't need to see to know. He pulls himself upright slowly, braces back against the headboard as though it can offer him any kind of protection. Dread sits cold and heavy in his stomach.

"Hello?" Jaskier can barely hear his own voice over the racing of his pulse. He feels as though he`s going to be sick. Someone is here. Someone is here.

Cautiously, he reaches for the lantern on his night table, nightmares of gnarled hands surging up from the darkness to grab him. Trembling, he lights it. And sees nothing.

Jaskier casts his gaze wildly over the sparse room, sees nothing in the shadows, nothing in the corners, but he can`t dispell the feeling of being watched. He wants so desperatley not to have to check under the bed that he nearly calls for Geralt, but he stops himself. If nothing`s there the shame will be unbearable.

He gathers himself as best he can, begins to lower the lantern. And stops.

There, at the foot of his bed, illuminated by the light: a depression. Slightly sunken as though someone`s just been sat there. Jaskier tries to think of a reason why anyone may have visited him while he slept, but he comes up with nothing.

He eases himself down the mattress, intending to kick the indentation away, but the second his foot reaches the spot he meets resistence. Solid, just a little bit of give, exactly like a human would feel if they were sat right there. 

Jaskier feels all the blood drain out of him at once. And then something touches his ankle.

He`s up and shouting, backed into the corner with only a lantern and his own voice at his disposal. "Geralt! Geralt! Yen! Fuck, There's someone in here!"

The depression on the bed rises, smoothes itself out as Jaskier hears the thundering of footsteps in the hall. The door crashes open- Geralt with his sword already wielded, eyes wild and searching and nostrils flaring. "Where."

"It was there. The end of the bed."

The Witcher looks around intently, but the space is so minimal it barely takes a moment. He steps back and tilts his head in order to see under the bed.

Frowning, Geralt stalks forward. He studies the mattress, gives it a few inquisitive pokes with his sword, much to the confusion of Ciri and Yen suddenly behind him. Flips the blankets back for good measure. "There`s nothing here."

"No." Jaskier shakes his head resolutely. "No, I know what I saw, Geralt. I know what I felt. I`m TELLING you there was someone there."

There and gone, almost faster than Jaskier can register, a wince of something like pity contorts the Witcher`s features. He sends Yennefer an inquisitive look and heaves a deep breath when the Witch shakes her head in the negative.

"I don`t smell anything, Jaskier. Yen can`t sense it. Nothing can get past the wards." Geralt places his sword on the mattress, raises his hands in a placating gesture. "But if there was something here, it`s gone now. Right?"

" _Fuck_ , don`t look at me like that. Like I`m - I`m crazy." Jaskier _feels_ crazy. He feels like he`s losing his gods-damned mind.

Ciri shakes her head, pushes past Geralt to wrap her arms around Jaskier`s waist. "No one thinks that."

"It`s perfectly expected for you to have nightmares like this, Jaskier. The trauma you`ve been through… I`m surprised you haven`t had more." Yennefer crosses her arms over her chest, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Jaskier shakes his head with less conviction. "I _felt_ someone. It felt like… I thought I felt someone. Like they were there."

"I have dreams like that, too, sometimes." Ciri whispers, so openly painful that Jaskier sets the lantern aside to return her hug tenfold.

There`s something wrong with him. He`s always had an overactive imagination, but up until now he`d never had any problem distinguishing fantasy from reality. Jaskier wishes he could blame the conviction on a sleep-addled brain, but he`d been wide awake since the moment the fear struck him. He`d truly believed, just for a moment, that Rowan had been there.

"I'm sorry if I scared you." He`s shaking, still, and he attempts to calm himself. He looks over Ciri`s head and tries to convey the same message to Geralt and Yen. "I really thought there was someone there. I shouldn`t have shouted."

That has Geralt looking up with alarm. "No. Shout. If you ever think you`re in danger, shout. Please."

"Okay." Jaskier swallows down the lump in his throat and wonders if Geralt can sense the lie. "I will."

~

Three days later, his songbook is still missing. Jaskier starts over from scratch.

He`s not even halfway through the second song when that book goes missing as well.

~~~

"No. Absolutely not." Jaskier storms forward with determination, expression stony as he comes nose to nose with the Witcher. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Um." Geralt meets his gaze unflinchingly, though his confusion is clear.

" _This_ ," Jaskier pokes him pointedly in the chest, bared as it as for all the world to see. "is unacceptable."

How dare Geralt come shuffling out of his room at arse-o-clock int the morning, shirtless and sleep-mussed, hair loose and curling artfully at his shoulders. Looking so unguarded and soft. Jaskier is _outraged_. He is _furious_. He is _ill equipped_ to deal with the way the sight causes a tightness in his chest, vulnerable and aching and glorious.

"Had a rough night last night did you? Thought you could just- just come home from slaughtering a lake full of drowners, stumble into bed for twelve hours and emerge looking like _that_." Jaskier narrows his eyes, steps closer still, and feels a thrill of pride when Geralt`s pupils blow wide and his gaze falls to Jaskier`s mouth. He pitches his voice low. "Just who do you think you are, Witcher?"

Jaskier doesn`t wait for an answer, just leans in and relishes the scratch of stubble against his cheek as he whispers into Geralt`s ear, "I`m sorry love, but there`s nothing for it. I`m just going to have to teach you a lesson."

Geralt growls, a pleasant rumble, and he wastes no time. He scoops Jaskier up one-armed, much to the Bard`s delight, hefts him over his shoulder and executes a quick one-eighty back to the bedroom. The door shuts behind them with a decisive _thud_.

It only takes about five minutes for it all to go to shit.

Jaskier is thoroughly enjoying himself, straddled as he is on the Witcher`s lap, mouthing kisses along Geralt`s neck and down to the hollow of his throat. He bites down lightly on a collarbone and smiles against skin when the action elicits a rough " _Fuck_ " from the Witcher above him.

It`s great, It`s perfect, really, and it would be everything Jaskier could ever want if Geralt would only stop _touching_ him.

He intercepts broad hands as they go to wrap around his waist, redirects them down to the chair they`re sat on. He keeps his hands locked around Geralt`s wrists until the Witcher gets with the program and latches onto the seat with a white knuckled grip. Jaskier laughs, soft, and rears up to reward him with a kiss.

"Bossy, aren`t you?" Geralt`s amused huff is just this side of breathless.

Jaskier snorts, and it`s maybe not the sexiest thing he`s ever done but he can`t bring himself to care. "Darling, you`ve no idea."

Geralt grins, surging forward to steal another kiss. It`s like he can`t seem to help himself, one hand sliding up to the small of Jaskier`s back while the other goes to cradle his head, tugging lightly at his hair. It`s perfectly innocent, perfectly normal, but Jaskier can`t help the way his breath hitches in alarm and his entire body goes tense. He pulls away, rests his forehead against Geralt`s with shaking breaths and prays the Witcher allows the moment to pass.

And Geralt, Geralt just… freezes. He allows Jaskier to grip his arms gently, lets him pull them slowly away until they hang at his sides.

Jaskier forces a strained laugh, rabbit heart racing. "Let`s try that again, shall we?" Desperate for a distraction, he attempts to undo the laces of Geralt`s trousers with shaking fingers, but the Witcher stops him with a gentle touch.

"Jaskier, stop. Stop." His voice is gentle, so quiet and pained, and Jaskier sees red.

" _Fuck_." He pushes himself up hurriedly from Geralt`s lap, swipes a hand over his face in frustration. He`s furious and humiliated, his whole body vibrating with it. He can`t decide whether he`d rather curl up and die of shame or shout at Geralt until his throat is torn and bloody.

"I was fine. I was _fine_." Jaskier paces, one hand over his mouth, and levels an accusatory glare at the Witcher. He can feel his face heating, his breath quicken. "I was perfectly happy, and then you had to go and- and do _that_. I never. I didn`t ask you to do that."

Geralt`s expression is soft, understanding, and _fuck_ but he hates it. "Jaskier-"

"Gods, stop, I don`t need that look Geralt, not from you." He throws his arms wide, tries to make it as obvious for Geralt as he can. "All you had to do was nothing, and we would have been _fine_."

Geralt rises slowly, cautiously. "You`re not `fine`, though, Jask. It`s okay for you not to be."

" _Oh_ \- oh, good, perfect, thanks very much for clearing that up. Cheers for that, Geralt." He laughs, and it`s an ugly sound.

"What the fuck good am I if I can`t-" Jaskier feels his face start to crumple and he blinks furiously, looking anywhere but at Geralt. He slumps, mortified and defeated, and his voice is weak as he questions, "Geralt, what the fuck good am I?"

"Fuck, Jaskier, no," The Witcher takes a step forward and falters, expression lost when the Bard abruptly moves away.

Jaskier`s back hits the wall, and with Geralt stood open and plaintive before him, he can`t help but to feel trapped. All at once he`s so exhausted and disgusted with himself that he nearly feels sick. "I`m sorry, I just. I need you not to touch me right now, please. I`m sorry. Geralt, I`m sorry."

"Do you want me to go?" It`s obvious that he doesn`t want to leave. Geralt steps back, seems to shrink in on himself. Like he`s trying his best not to look threatening, trying to make himself seem smaller.

" _No_." Jaskier surprises himself with how desperate he sounds. "Don`t go. Please."

"I won`t. Not if you want me to stay." Slowly, the Witcher seats himself on the floor- legs folded beneath him, arms at his sides. Allowing Jaskier to have the advantage in their positions if he needs it. 

A few minutes pass before he can bring himself to slide bonelessly down the wall, but he still can`t meet Geralt`s eyes. "And you thought you were done with `Jaskier`s hilarious sexual misadventures`."

"That`s not what you are to me."

"Oh?" Jaskier feels the faintest pull of a tired smile. He tugs half-heartedly at the fraying carpet, watches as it unravels with ease. "What am I to you?"

A shrug. "Everything."

Jaskier`s head snaps up at that, but he can detect no lie on the Witcher`s face, no well-meaning but misplaced consolation. The truth of it is written on Geralt`s face, plain as day.

Jaskier blinks rapidly, glances away even as that familiar ache in his chest resurges. "A questionable life choice as always, Witcher."

"Says the Viscount-turned-Bard." And okay, alright, that`s fair.

Despite himself, Jaskier laughs.

~~~

He's still a bit shaky, a bit on edge, but Jaskier figures the best way to get over himself is to throw himself into the fire. He hasn`t played in front of a crowd for ages, and he misses it. Misses the rush of adrenaline, the challenge of winning people over and uniting them with a story. He misses being a _bard_ , for gods` sake.

Thanks to Yennefer he`s got a brand new lute, and thanks to the barkeep he`s got just enough liquid courage to put it to use. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman! How do you fare?"

Jaskier smiles his brightest smile and places his lute case on the bar, wary of spills. "Weary, I hear you say? In desperate need of entertainment?"

That earns him a cheer, mostly half-hearted but seemingly sincere from a few of the rowdier folk. Melitele preserve him, Jaskier does love alcohol and all the opportunistic gifts it provides. "Well worry not!"

He undoes the latches of his lute case with flair, flips it open to find…nothing. The case is empty, completely barren of all but rosin, and Jaskier feels his face flush with bewilderment and chagrin. It had been there. His lute, even new as this one is, is an extension of himself; he knows the weight of it. He`d asked to accompany Geralt and Yen on this trip into town for the express purpose of playing and he _knows_ , knows with everything in him, that there`s no way he could have forgotten an entire instrument.

Baffled, shaken, he flips the case closed before anyone can notice, takes a long swig of ale and turns back to the crowd.

"Tonight, I will be offering an interactive experience." He points to the drunkest person he can find. "You sir! Percussion, if you please." The man begins to thump on the table with glee, and blessings upon blessings it's nearly a passable beat. Jaskier feels a thrill of relief. He can make this work.

"And you, lovely, I don't suppose that flute you`ve got behind the bar is just for show?" It isn't.

Jaskier smiles. He starts to sing. It`s all a bit fuzzy after that.

~

He comes to with Geralt`s concerned face hovering above him, and for the longest time its all Jaskier can do to blink up at him stupidly. Last thing he remembers, he`d been rather more upright. He`d also been in far less pain.

Jaskier groans, goes to shield his eyes from the light in an attempt to lessen his pounding headache. Geralt intercepts his movements.

"Jaskier, I need you to look at me." Jaskier does, and tries not to flinch away as the Witcher brings a candle closer to one eye and then the other. "What did you take."

"Take?" He tries to lever himself upright, but is halted by Geralt`s hand on his chest. He finds he lacks the energy to fight it. Jaskier lets his eyes slip closed. "Didn`t take anything. Ale."

The Witcher curses, and Jaskier doesn`t even get a moment to enjoy Geralt`s best VERY SCARY voice before he`s being lifted. "You've been drugged. We need to get it out of you."

"Not the worst thing that`s been in me though, right Geralt?" He`s had _far_ worse things in him, whether he wanted them or not. Jaskier feels his head loll forward until its tucked against Geralt`s neck. He isn't positive he knows where the rest of his body is. 

He can hear Geralt talking, a steady rumble in his ear, but he can't for the life of him make out what`s being said. He stops trying to. He drifts.

"Jaskier." His name, repeated with growing urgency from somewhere far away. He doesn`t have the energy to chase it.

A sharp jostle has his eyes snapping open. Geralt`s face, openly afraid. "Don`t do that. Stay awake."

"Sorry," He murmers, but his eyes are already sliding shut.

The next thing he knows he's on his side, vomiting with such force that it`s nearly agonizing. He can`t stop retching, can`t catch his breath, and it isn`t until darkness begins to creep into the edges of his vision that he finally stops, gasping for air.

"Shh, shh, it`s okay. You`re okay." A stranger's voice, reaching him as if through a tunnel. "You`re alright, love. Nothing a nice detoxing tea won`t fix."

"Geralt-" Jaskier`s voice is wrecked. He reaches out blindly, and breathes a sigh of relief as a wide hand catches his own. He thinks the Witcher may be speaking to him, but Jaskier`s too fucking exhausted to listen. He gives Geralt`s hand a lazy squeeze of what he hopes reads as reassurance. 

He lets himself slip back into darkness.

He sleeps for nearly a day, and dreams only of Rowan.

~

When the worst of the side effects have worn off, Jaskier secludes himself in his room. He's clearer now, and he finally understands. It`s Rowan. It can`t be anybody else. The lute, the songbooks, the overall mindfuckery. The fireplace. The feeling of being watched.

He`d never seen the body with his own eyes. Now he knows there had never a body to begin with.

Seated on the floor across from him, paying no mind to his self imposed isolation, Ciri eyes him with poorly disguised concern. "Jaskier?"

"Hm." He pulls himself out of his thoughts just long enough to meet the girl`s eyes. She`s babysitting him. The child princess is babysitting him. It`s the least of his concerns.

Jaskier has to figure out a way to prove his theory. To somehow convince both a Witch and a Witcher that what they`d seen with their very own eyes was a lie. Rowan was a master of tricks, illusions, nightmares. Jaskier knows firsthand. If anyone could pull it off, it would be Rowan.

"Do you want anything to eat? Geralt says you haven`t had anything since yesterday." Ciri reaches forward, gives him a gentle but pointed jab in his slightly too prominent ribs. "He`ll be upset, you know, if you don`t eat. He doesn`t like it when people are too skinny. He says he doesn`t care, but he does."

Jaskier summons a smile, distracted but grateful. He wishes he could ask the girl to leave, but he`s reluctant to hurt her feelings. He just needs to concentrate. "No. Thank you."

Ciri`s face falls, and Jaskier forces himself to look away. More than anything, he needs to figure out how Rowan had been able to get past the wards, how he`d slipped right into the heart of their little home without anyone noticing. The idea of someone fooling both Geralt and Yen is ludicrous even to him, but Jaskier can think of no other explanation.

Rowan is fucking with him. Even now, even after everything, he's fucking with him. Isolating him, eluding him, making him feel as though _Jaskier_ is the crazy one. He needs to figure out a way to end it or he will not leave this nightmare alive; Jaskier feels the conviction of this truth in his bones.

Rowan was never going to let Jaskier go. He`d never really managed to escape at all. Everything he`d done, for nothing.

Heavy boots shuffle down the hall and Jaskier glances up to see Geralt appear in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Jaskier _knows_ he`s distracted when the sight doesn`t trigger his usual flush of want, and the realization further sours his mood- another thing Rowan`s managed to take. 

"All good?"

Ciri gives the Witcher a half-hearted smile. "Jaskier won`t tell me what`s wrong."

He can`t help the surge of irritation he feels at that, and Jaskier`s voice is sharper than he intends when he bites out, "Melitele, Ciri, because nothing _is_."

The girl flinches, surprised, and for a moment Jaskier really, truly hates himself.

Geralt frowns at him, disapproving. "You`re detoxing. You need food." He sighs and turns to the door. "Come on, both of you."

Jaskier sighs, momentarily defeated, and goes to rise just as Ciri does the same. He reaches out to help her, a peace offering. He`s left blinking and horrified when a sharp crack sounds out and Ciri falls backward, hand pressed to her reddening cheek. Her eyes are wide, afraid and confused, and she looks at Jaskier as though she`s never seen him before this moment.

Geralt whirls around, kneels to examine Ciri`s face, and his expression when he looks at Jaskier is thunderous. "What the fuck were you _thinking_ , Jaskier."

"No, Ciri, it wasn`t - I didn`t." He claps a hand over his mouth, shocked. "That wasn`t me. It wasn`t me."

"There`s no one else _here_ , Jaskier." Geralt bares his teeth, expression caught somewhere between fury and concern. He pulls Ciri to her feet and guides the girl behind him, like Jaskier`s a threat, like he`d hurt her.

Jaskier scrambles up, palms out in appeasement, pleading. "Ciri, I would never hit you. I would never, you have to know that. I _couldn`t_." His stomach drops as the reality of what just happened hits him.

"It was Rowan. _Geralt_ , it was Rowan. He`s here, you`ve got to believe me." He moves toward them, feels a helpless kind of desperation when the pair take a step back. He doesn`t know what`s worse, the heartbreak in Geralt`s eyes or the fear in Ciri`s.

"Rowan is dead." Geralt`s tone is careful.

Jaskier shakes his head, insistent. "He was _here_ , Geralt. He was _in this room_. He`s been watching me, following me this whole time. You`ve got to believe me. Please, you`ve got to."

"Geralt, he didn`t mean to." Ciri with tears in her eyes, her hand clamped to Geralt`s arm.

Jaskier stops himself from going to her, reluctant to scare the girl any further, but he aches for it. "This is what he _does_ , Geralt. It's what he did in the beginning- pushes everyone away until it`s only just the two of us. Till he`s all I`ve got. He gets me alone and then he does what he wants, and he`s doing it again."

"Jaskier…"

"Fuck, please- " He casts about for proof, desperate to make them understand. "My songbooks! In all the time we`ve known each other, have you _ever_ known me to let them out of my sight, let alone lose them entirely? He _took_ them, Geralt!"

The Witcher cuts a pointed gaze behind him, brows furrowed, and Jaskier follows his line of sight to the room`s small dresser. To both of his songbooks sat atop it, a dried daisy sticking out from the pages.

Jaskier`s stomach sinks. "No, no, that wasn't there. I swear they weren`t there." 

He tries to reach out and finds himself doubled over instead, breathless at the sudden pain in his gut. Hands braced on his knees, he feels his fist clench tight around an object he`s got no memory of grabbing. Jaskier raises his hand before him in an attempt to figure out what in the fuck had just happened, and is baffled to find himself holding one of Geralt`s knives.

"Jaskier." Geralt`s voice is calmer than he`s ever heard it. "Give me the knife. Please."

"I didn`t…I didn`t _do_ this, Geralt. I don`t know where it came from."

Geralt just nods like it`s a normal thing to say, steps forward to carefully remove the knife from Jaskier`s grasp before placing it back onto his belt.

"You`re not staying here tonight, Ciri." Geralt keeps his eyes locked on Jaskier, something like fear in his gaze. Fear of him or _for_ him, he doesn`t know. "I`m taking her to Yennefer. We`ll talk this through when I get back, I promise."

"Please don't leave me." Icy fear crawls up his spine, turns his skin to gooseflesh. "Geralt, Geralt, please don`t leave me here alone. I need you to believe me. I`m not crazy, I swear it."

Geralt swallows, pain clear in his face. "I know. I know you`re not. But you`re not well right now, Jaskier."

Jaskier recoils, taken aback. "Geralt…"

The Witcher only shakes his head. "Ciri`s safety is my priority, always. I know its yours as well, and I know you understand. Promise me you`ll stay here, Jaskier. I`ll return as quickly as I can." 

Remorse plays over the Witcher`s features as he leads Ciri toward the front door, Jaskier following numbly in their wake. He pauses, turns to give Jaskier one last beseeching look. Reaches for his hand and plants the softest of kisses over his knuckles. "Be safe, Jaskier. Try and get some sleep until I get back. Please." 

And with that, they`re gone.

Jakier is left frozen and disbelieving, staring at the door with an awful kind of hopelessness clawing at his chest. He`s alone. After all this time, all this progress, alone once more. Had he ever not been?

As though the despairing thought had beckoned a response, Jaskier feels it. The lightest touch of fingertips against his throat, a warm breath at his ear.

" _Fuck_." He jerks away, stumbles backward to face the source of the touch. There`s nothing there. He isn't Geralt, isn`t Yen. He can`t defend himself against something he can`t see. 

"Why are you doing this?" Slowly, slowly, Jaskier inches closer to the front door. Tries to convince himself he isn`t terrified out of his mind, that he`s got some sort of chance here at all. Just as he reaches the door the heavy bureau beside it tips and crashes, nearly knocking into him and effectively blocking his exit.

Jaskier stumbles backward, shaken, but still he can`t see a thing. No sign of movement, no sound to be heard. " _Fuck_ this." 

He doubles back to the cottage`s small kitchen, smashes his hip against the table in an effort to pull a knife down from the rack, but the pain is a distant thing. He wields the knife wildly, regretting every instance he'd rebuffed Geralt`s offers to teach him how to fight.

"What do you want. What the _fuck else_ could you want?" Jaskier swivels to the right at the sound of floorboards creaking, slashing at air. He may as well be blindfolded.

Somewhere before him: a soft huff of laughter. Rowan. "Are you frightened, pet?"

Jaskier swallows down bile. He can feel the knife begin to slip from numb fingers and readjusts his grip with a dull kind of determination. Despite all his conviction, he`d yearned so deeply to be wrong. Losing his mind would be easier than this. Anything would be easier than this.

"Nothing to say?" A tsk, disappointed and demeaning. "I`d rather hoped you`d got over this by now, Julian. We`d made so much progress, at the end. Haven`t you missed our talks?"

"Don`t call me that." It comes out a rough croak, but Jaskier can`t bring himself to care. He can`t do this, not again. He won`t survive it a second time.

Delighted laughter makes his skin crawl. "Really? _That`s_ your biggest concern, is it? So sorry, pet, but I`m afraid you`ll have to re-earn the privilege of your preferred moniker. You remember how to do that, don`t you? Do you recall what pleases me?"

Pain, subservience, pleading. Jaskier remembers.

"So _quiet_ , dove! Have you lost your voice, now that your Witcher`s gone?" 

A ripple, a shimmer, and Rowan reveals himself, grinning. Thick golden hair and deep blue eyes, the charming good looks of a princeling. Jaskier`s seen those full lips bloody and peeled back against perfect teeth, those blue eyes devoid of all emotion. He`s watched those elegant hands smother and slap, those manicured nails carving into flesh. He remembers the feel of them around his throat, over his mouth and nose, cutting off oxygen as the mage would watch with untamed glee.

"How are you here?" Jaskier needs to know, needs to understand, but Rowan just laughs.

"Ah-ah-ah." He waves a finger back and forth as though chastising a child. "Secrets are for partners, are they not? If you recall, you left our partnership in quite the hurry. So deeply dramatic, as always." 

"I`m- _I`m_ dramatic?" The idea is so incredulous Jaskier actually laughs, even as his eyes begin to blur. "You faked your own death and stalked me for months, you absolute _fucking_ nutter! You`d consider that subtle, would you? Just a bit of the norm?"

Jaskier snarls, advances a few steps until they`re nearly face to face. "You look tired, Rowan. Old." He pouts, mock sympathetic. "Has complete and utter lunacy not been kind to you? Or perhaps it`s the loneliness, since all of your `pets` have managed to escape you with such ease."

Rowan`s face transforms, skin stretched taut over bone in a mask of fury. His muscles twitch as he tamps it back with considerable effort, models his features into a condescending smile. "Some spark left after all, I see. Well. We`ll put an end to that."

He shimmers out of existence even as Jaskier thrusts the knife forward. A hand clamps around his wrist, grinding the bones together, and he can feel the knife being turned back on himself even as the Mage steps forward to whisper in his ear, "Careful now, pet, you really must watch where you point that."

Jaskier tries to let go, but Rowan slides his grip upward and over Jaskier`s fist, forces his arm until the blade is at his own throat. He hisses as it draws slowly against his skin, warm blood running down to soak his collar.

"Beautiful." Rowan`s voice, low and thick with lust. "You`re beautiful like this, Julian."

Rowan`s free hand trails through the blood on Jaskier`s throat, smears it across the Bard`s face and over his lips. He allows his thumb to linger there, a cruel imitation of intimacy. "Open your mouth for me, love."

Jaskier`s momentary bravado vanishes completely as he`s jarred by the memories that particular phrase triggers. His grip on the knife loosens, just for a moment, but it`s enough. Rowan wrenches it from his hold and, with a shuddering breath, sinks it slowly into the meat of Jaskier`s shoulder. With the faintest of moans, he twists the blade until Jaskier feels the agonizing grind of metal against bone.

It`s too much. The pain, the terror. He`s an exposed nerve, aching and useless, and it`s more than Jaskier can bear. There`s pressure trapped under his skin, urgent, thrumming, and it builds and builds until his vision whites out and he begins to scream. Desperate to relieve the pressure, the all-consuming pain, he does the only thing he can think of and _pushes_. 

For a single heartbeat, the world goes quiet and dark. And then it explodes. 

Jaskier`s vision returns just in time to see his own hand on Rowan`s chest, a pulse of blue-white light shocking through the Mage`s body. He watches as the shallow line of blood that appears on Rowan`s throat begins to drip, watches crimson bloom bright around the knife in his shoulder. The Mage`s eyes go wide with shock as he stares down at his injuries in horror.

Jaskier steps back, stunned. He presses a hand to his own shoulder numbly, finds it warm and sticky with blood and… nothing else. The knife, the stab wound, the pain: gone. He raises trembling fingers to his throat and finds the skin there unmarred. Even his hip, which had been throbbing since he`d smashed it against the table, feels good as new.

He wheezes out a laugh, manic and shaken, as the Mage`s eyes roll wildly back to meet his own. 

Rowan screams, high-pitched and warbling, and it`s all the warning that he gets. He surges forward, grabs the back of Jaskiers neck and presses a bloodied palm to his forehead. He leans in close, breath rancid, and presses the softest of kisses to Jaskier`s lips. 

The Mage smiles.

The world goes dark.

~~~

Jaskier wakes groggy and aching, his vision a blur. As it begins to focus he finds himself laid out on a familiar stone slab, stained with old blood. His heart jumps to his throat.

"No, no no no no, _fuck_ no." He begins to struggle uselessly against his restraints, panic making his movements clumsy. "Please, fuck, not again. Please not again."

He can`t do this, gods, he can`t do this. Tears roll uselessly down his face as Jaskier searches for anything, anything that might get him out of this. He can`t be back here, not again, not after all this time.

" _Again_?" Rowan, whole and unharmed, rounds the slab to stare down at Jaskier in fond amusement. "Darling pet, what makes you think you ever left?"


	2. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier wakes screaming, kicking and clawing and shoving them away with what little strength he`s got in his weakened state. His eyes are wild, rolling, glancing over them without a glimmer of recognition. He`s nearly feral like this, a trapped animal with nothing to lose but his life, and the only thing worse than the terrified look on his face are the awful stretches of nothingness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thank you to iamq for being a wonderful and deeply tolerant beta! <3

It`s been a few months, and the three of them have settled into a routine. Ciri trains -Yennefer first, Geralt second if he`s not away hunting. Originally they`d tried it the other way round, but Yennefer had vehemently argued that Geralt`s training left Ciri too exhausted and distracted to even attempt following her lessons. She insisted that they switch, tone brooking no room for argument, and made a generous offer to irritate the ever-loving fuck out of the Witcher should he fail to come around. Geralt had acquiesced eventually, much to the Witch`s smug delight and his own chagrin, but secretly he concedes she had a point.

It`s surprising, then, when Yennefer stops mid lesson, eyes going wide and distant before shouldering past Geralt with determination. "You take over. Something's come up." She`s off before Geralt can question her, Ciri left blinking and baffled where they`d left off.

Geralt offers the girl a shrug. "Something came up. Go get your knives."

After, while Ciri goes to bathe in the small lake, Geralt heads back to the cottage to find a disaster; Yennefer wild eyed and grim, rifling through his belongings without a care. She doesn't even allow him the opportunity to be annoyed before she`s hissing at him accusingly, "How is it possible that you`ve known the Bard for over half his life and haven`t got a single memento?"

Geralt, blindsided, tries not to wince at the mention of Jaskier. Guilt settles heavy and cloying in his gut, and he welcomes it. Deserves it. "Why does it matter?"

Yennefer just stares at him, unimpressed. "The Bard. Mementos. Where."

Geralt stares back, jaw clenched in something that must look like anger but feels a lot like shame. He wants to argue, but there`s something in Yennefer`s gaze that screams _urgerncy_. "Fine."

He stalks past her and reaches down to grab a satchel from under his bed. He flips it open, swallows when he sees Jaskier`s _stupid_ fucking doll staring back at him. It`s a poor imitation of the Witcher that Jaskier had scrapped together himself under threat of `Dire and possibly even life-threatening boredom'. The Bard had sewn the deepest frown and angriest brows Geralt had ever seen represented in a doll, all the while chuckling to himself. Finally done, he`d gifted it to Geralt with all the pomp and circumstance deserving of something precious and rare. Geralt had met Jaskier`s grin with a scowl, pretending to be annoyed.

Once, a thief had slipped the thing from Geralt`s pack while he sat in a tavern, apparently thinking it valuable if a Witcher had gone through the trouble to keep it . He`d been right. Geralt had broken the man`s hand without remorse.

"Gods, _thank you_." Yennefer snatches the doll from his hands and heads straight for the kitchen, where the table is a mess of crystals and indecipherable runes. She sets the doll in the middle of it all and, without warning, promptly lights it aflame.

"Yen-" Geralt goes to grab it, outraged and more than a little bit shocked.

Yennefer grabs his wrist without even sparing him a glance. "I`m trying to save your Bard`s life, would you rather _him_ or the doll?"

"What the fuck does that mean." Fear, cold and familiar, seizing his chest. "Yennefer, where is he?"

"He`s called to me. I don`t know how, but I felt him. He`s in trouble, and hurting terribly." Yennefer shushes him even though he hadn`t spoken. She makes some kind of complicated gesture with her hands and the smoke before them bellows and rises, curling out to reveal a hazy picture.

It`s Jaskier, terror and determination written clear across his face. The Bard is running, tripping, crashing through a dark wood that Geralt doesn`t recognize. He looks haunted and hunted, thinner than Geralt can ever remember him being.

"Where the fuck is he, Yen?" The instinct to run out and find him, heedless of any information, nearly carries Geralt out the door.

"Cintra. He`s just outside of Cintra." Yennefer finally looks at him, and her eyes are bleak. "Get your weapons. I`ll portal us there."

~

By the time they step back through the portal Jaskier is unconscious, limp and light as a rag doll in Geralt`s arms. His face is a bloodied mess of thin scratches and welts, a large bruise blooming deep and purple from his temple to cheek. He smells so much of the Mage that they`d glimpsed only briefly that it takes nearly everything inside of Geralt not to turn back around and tear the fuck limb from limb.

He hates it, he fucking hates seeing Jaskier likes this. The thought of anyone laying hands on the bard with ill intent had never sat well with him, ever, and this is nearly unbearable. He thinks of Jaskier as he`d last seen him on that mountain: whole, but wide eyed and hurt, disbelieving like it had never actually occurred to him until that very moment that Witchers could be cruel. That Witchers could be monsters.

"Come, quickly." Yennefer ushers him toward the cottage, ripping Geralt from his thoughts, and he finds himself moving forward with numb feet. They`d portaled just outside the wards, reluctant to invite any unintended visitors into their home with such ease. Yennefer makes a gesture, sends a shock of power shimmering through the wards. "Get him inside."

Geralt doesn`t have to be told twice. He shifts the bard gently in his arms, feels a pang as Jaskier`s too-long hair brushes under his jaw (Jaskier would _never_ approve of appearing so unkempt), and starts forward. He doesn`t so much as manage a toe over the line before the wards are pushing them roughly back, humming angrily.

" _Yen_." They don`t have time for this.

"That should have worked." She repeats the movement, frowning at something in the wards visible only to herself. Violet eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she whips toward them. "Let me see him."

"Be careful." Geralt finds himself fighting the urge to pull Jaskier away as the Witch paws at him non too gently. He watches as she places one hand lightly on the Bard`s chest and her gaze goes momentarily vacant.

The moment her vision seems to clear, she swears emphatically. One hand remains on Jaskiers chest while the other motions toward the wards, causing them to shimmer once more. She shoves them through, cutting Geralt off with a brisk shake of her head as he tries to question what the fuck just happened. "I`ll explain after."

After is a fucking nightmare.

~

Jaskier wakes screaming, kicking and clawing and shoving them away with what little strength he`s got in his weakened state. His eyes are wild, rolling, glancing over them without a glimmer of recognition. He`s nearly feral like this, a trapped animal with nothing to lose but his life, and the only thing worse than the terrified look on his face are the awful stretches of nothingness.

"What the fuck is happening to him, Yen?" He brushes Jaskier`s sweat soaked hair away from his face, tries not to be affected when the action garners no response from the normally tactile man. He`s heaving short, rapid bursts of breath, interrupted by occasional bouts of shivering so severe that his back arches from the bed and his teeth rattle. Wide blue eyes stare straight through him, and Geralt fights to catch their attention, to bring Jaskier home.

"Withdrawl, primarily. Trauma, malnourishment among other things. He`s got so many fucking spells running through him and so many gods-damned potions in his system, I'm surprised he`s conscious at all." She snarls. "I`d say I was surprised he was even alive, but we both know why that`s the case."

They do. Jaskier`s own magic- the very thing that had caused the wards to push him away, sensing the threat of unfamiliar power. Geralt doesn`t know how it happened or what it means, but he knows it isn`t good.

"Can`t you give him something to ease the pain?" Fuck, anything. Anything to erase that blank expression from Jaskier`s bright eyes, to release the awful tension in his skinny frame. He makes the sign for Axii once more, to no effect.

"Introduce even more foreign magic into his system?" Yennefer snorts, derisive, but her heart isn`t it. "The last thing he needs is anyone else fucking with him, Geralt. I wouldn`t know where to start untangling this mess if I tried. It would only do him more harm."

She sighs, and Geralt is surprised to see genuine pain in her features. "No. We keep him hydrated, keep him from hurting himself. All we can do is stay."

~

Geralt tries, only once, to sneak away and head for Cintra in the night. He intends to slaughter the Mage - Rowan, he`s heard Jaskier`s broken voice call it so many times by now- but is halted by Ciri`s plaintive expression.

She doesn`t try to stop him or get in his way, simply asks "What if he wakes up?", and Geralt is felled.

He lays his bedroll on the floor next to Jaskier`s cot, and doesn`t see his own room for days.

~

Jaskier wakes, truly, and Geralt suddenly finds himself wishing the Bard wasn`t quite so lucid. Hallucinatory, barely present Jaskier had been horrific, but Geralt hates this quiet, cautious Jaskier even more. He can`t stand to see him so guarded yet seemingly desperate for consolation, and Geralt doesn`t know what the fuck to say.

Eventually, after days of one-word answers and distrustful stares, something seems to crack.

Geralt is at his usual place by Jaskier`s side, trying to keep his presence as steady and calming as possible, and it seems to be paying off. The Bard is less insistent with his assertions that Geralt is a figment of his imagination or a party trick, and the Witcher can see a reluctant kind of belief starting to take hold.

They speak, a bit, and there`s an awful tension in Jaskier`s body when he finally asks, "If this is real, then what was the last thing you said to me? Before. Before all this- this shit." He heaves a shaking breath, blue eyes shuttered, and Geralt aches for him. "Rowan, he- he took what he wanted. But I wouldn`t let him have that. Not that."

And Geralt, Geralt`s never been brave; he looks away. He doesn`t want to think about the implications of Jaskier holding on to that particular memory, wants so desperately not to have to discuss it _at all_. But he owes him, _gods_ he owes him, and Geralt thinks he`d probably tear off his own limb if he thought it might help Jaskier heal in even the most imperceptible of ways.

He forces himself to meet Jaskier`s eyes and tears the words from where they`re buried deep within his chest. "I told you if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands." He reaches out haltingly, unsure whether Jaskier will welcome the touch. Slowly, carefully, he takes the Bard`s hand, slots their fingers together. "I didn`t mean it."

Jaskier stares, unblinking, at their joined hands, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I know."

It isn`t the response he`d expected, and Geralt feels a dizzying rush of gratefulness and guilt. He doesn`t know why he`s surprised - Jaskier had always been far more perceptive than Geralt had given him credit it for. "I was upset. And cruel."

"You were." Geralt winces at the sound of Jaskier`s voice, tight and wavering and barely there.

He reaches out, tips a gentle hand under the Bard`s chin so he can finally meet his eyes, and the pain he sees written there nearly slays him. "I`m sorry." For that terrible day, for every thoughtless moment and careless word he`d ever slung at Jaskier, thinking him unaffected and unflappable. He thumbs away the wetness suddenly trailing down Jaskier`s face. "I won`t ask you to forgive me."

"Good." Jaskiers makes a valiant effort to force his voice into something casual, something light, and Geralt hates it. "They don`t call me Julian `Cold and Unforgiving` Pankratz for nothing, you know. Toughest Bard in the whole of Redania." He laughs, choked, and it`s an awful thing.

"Maybe that`s why he chose me, aye Geralt? Why he kept me? Just wanted a bit of a challenge, is all." Jaskier attempts to force out a laugh, but his face only crumples instead. All at once he`s sobbing, a keening, horrid sound. He tries to pull away, tries to curl in on himself once more, and Geralt can`t stand it.

He scoops Jaskier up with all the care he can manage, mindful of his injuries, and tucks him close. Jaskier latches on immediately, long-fingered hands fisted in the material of Geralt`s shirt and shoving his face into the Witcher`s neck. He holds on desperately, like Geralt`s the only thing keeping him together, and Geralt feels a surge of protectiveness so acutely he can barely breath for it.

Never again. He will lay down his own life before any more harm can come to the man in his arms. He will not lose Jaskier again, and he will not allow him to lose himself. He tightens his grip. He holds on.

~

They`re only in Cintra for a few hours before word of Rowan`s execution-to-be reaches them. It isn`t nearly enough, not after all the damage the Mage has done, and Geralt won`t stand for it. It only takes a little bit of questioning before he finds out where the Mage is being held, and it`s there he heads before Yennefer blocks his path.

"Don`t be _ridiculous_ ," she hisses. "In case it`s escaped your notice, we are two _very wanted_ people, right in the middle of Nilfgaardian fucking territory. I brought you here to gather information, not so you could run off and enact your little revenge fantasy on a man already sentenced to death."

Geralt doesn`t say it isn`t good enough, because he knows Yennefer knows. He clenches his jaw and looks anywhere but at the Witch, grinds out, "It`s my fault this happened. I owe it to him."

"Oh, of course, I forgot _you_ were the one holding the Bard captive and torturing him for months." She takes a deep breath, seems to calm herself. "I know you love to carry the world on your shoulders, Geralt, but there's nothing you could have done."

He forces himself to meet her eyes, make her understand. "I drove him away, on his own, in the middle of a fucking _war_ , Yen. I should have gone after him. This never would have happened if I`d been with him."

"Maybe," Yennefer allows, "and maybe not. Maybe if you`d gone with him he`d have been safe, or maybe he might have ended up dead as the result of some pointless hunt. We can`t know with any certainty where our paths will lead us, despite our best intentions."

She takes a step forward, places a gentle hand on his arm. "You can`t control the actions of others, Geralt, or change what is passed. No one was there for him when he most needed help, but we`re here for him now. Is this Mage really worth the possibility or losing your life, of abandoning Jaskier for good?"

"Fuck." Geralt heaves a sigh, defeated. Yennefer is wrong, he knows, about wherein the blames lies, but the thought of being killed or captured, only to leave Jaskier alone once again, takes the wind straight from his sails- he won`t allow it. "Alright. But I need to be there, when it happens. I need to see it."

At that Yennefer smiles, and it`s a deadly thing. "I woudn't dream of being anywhere else."

~

The execution never happens.

They`re hidden among the masses, courtesy of Yennefer`s carefully constructed glamour, when the cry goes out: a ripple of shock and outrage through the crowd. Whispers of _the mage is dead_ and _slit his wrists when the idiot guards weren`t looking_.

Geralt snarls, disbelieving, and squares his shoulders for a fight. Of course Nilfgaard would conjure an excuse at the eleventh hour and whisk their Mage to safety. Or course there was never going to be any punishment at all.

He shoulders through the crowd without sparing Yennefer a second glance, heads straight to the front line of spectators. And watches as a body is tumbled unceremoniously to the ground before them. Pale and lifeless, eyes unseeing, Geralt remembers the face. More than that, though, more than anything, he remembers the smell - that awful, near smothering scent that had covered Jaskier so completely when they`d first brought him home. The memory of it makes Geralt sick to his stomach.

A surge in the crowd carries him forward just close enough to allow Geralt to spit on the corpse. Yennefer finds him. They go home.

~

It`s a rare moment of peace when Geralt finds Jaskier standing outside, bare toes dug into grass as he leans against a large Willow. It`s raining, just a bit, and every now and then the Bard will reach out to tug on a branch, sending droplets flying.

His smile, when he sees Geralt approach, is soft. The Witcher tries very hard not to think about the sudden sharp ache in his chest. "I see you`ve been busy"

"Ah. Yes, very, thank you for acknowledging. It isn`t easy standing under trees, you know- not just anyone can do it. I`ve actually got it on good authority that most lack the talent." Jaskier grins, and his eyes are shadowed but sincere. It`s the furthest he`s been away from the cottage. "Just another one of my many virtues."

"Hm." Geralt breaches the distance between them, standing a little bit closer than is strictly necessary, but Jaskier doesn`t seem to mind. He hands the Bard a bit of bread wrapped in cloth, and is pleased when Jaskier takes it almost thoughtlessly and immediately begins to eat. Geralt almost takes a jab at the _way_ he`s eating- tearing off little bits of bread and shoving them in his mouth like a wild hamster- but he stops himself. He doesn`t want to say anything that might discourage him, not when he still looks as though a stiff wind might knock him over.

"Any particular reason you're out here now?" As opposed to earlier when the day had been bright and clear, the three of them outside training while Jaskier had slept.

"Mentally composing, my dear Witcher. I'm calling upon mother nature to serve as my muse."

Geralt arches a brow. "Is she being accommodating?"

"Eh, not particularly, but such are her whims." Jaskier grins, a quiet thing. "I`ve mostly been staring blankly into the great beyond, to be honest. Which, you know, poet." He indicates himself. "Very poetic thing to do, staring off at nothing."

Geralt grants him that. "You're…alright though? Right now?"

Jaskier shrugs, and Geralt hates the forced nonchalance he can see in the Bard's posture.There'd been a time once when he would have done _anything_ to hear Jaskier stop complaining, and the thought fills him with shame. Jaskier huffs a breath, makes a production out of finishing the bread like he`s stalling for time. Geralt waits.

"I suppose I thought I`d feel, I don`t know… Better." Jaskier smiles, wry. "Better than this, anyway. Bit of a fool`s hope, that."

Geralt frowns, knocks his shoulder against Jaskier`s decidedly bony one. He wants to make the moment lighter, to ease just a bit of the tension, but it isn`t the time. Jaskier gifts him with a small half-smile, blue eyes grateful.

"It`s just. Sometimes I swear it`s like I never left at all. Like I may as well never have fucking tried." He shakes his head with a self-deprecating grimace. "You know I thought I heard him the other day, Geralt? Clear as anything, like he was standing right behind me. Isn`t that ridiculous?"

"I don`t think it`s ridiculous. I think you`ve been hurt, badly. There`s no timeline for this, Jaskier."

"No," He sighs. "No, I suppose there isn`t. Be nice though if there was." He raises his arm, mimes ticking a box with a delicate flourish. " _Jaskier finally stops feeling as though he`s being watched_ \- check."

"Jaskier stops speaking in the third person," Geralt offers, teasing.

The Bard huffs a laugh, repeats the ticking motion, and his eyes are bright with mirth. "Bastard."

Geralt smiles, shrugs. "I have been trying to tell you."

"Yes, yes, you`re a very scary, deeply intimidating frowny Witcher. Not a single ounce of kindness to be found in the whole of that-" He indicates Geralt with a lazy twist of his hand. "impressively muscular frame. Remind me though, who was it that strolled outside to check in on me just now?"

"Shut up." Geralt feels himself flush, just a little, and Jaskier`s eyes go soft. He shuffles closer and, after a moment of deliberation, drops his head to rest on Geralt`s shoulder. It feels only right for the Witcher to reach for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He presses a kiss to the top of Jaskier`s head.

"Very scary." The Bard reaffirms. "What an intimidating holding of hands this is. Monsters of every kind would surely never dream of crossing you, if they saw _this_."

Geralt groans. "Do you ever, _ever_ stop."

Jaskier pretends to consider, frowning, and _fuck_ , Geralt loves him. "Mm, no. Thought about it once. Too boring." He rubs his cheek against Geralt`s shoulder like a cat, plucks at his shirt. "You`re welcome."

He heaves an affected sigh and tugs the Bard closer, warmth blooming in his chest when Jaskier goes easily, slipping his arms around Geralt`s neck. Given the permission, the Witcher returns his hold, runs his hand up and down the prominent knobs of Jaskier`s spine.

After a moment he whispers into Geralt`s skin, almost too quiet to hear, "Thank you."

"For what?" Geralt pulls his head back to try and meet Jaskier`s eyes, but he doesn`t offer an explanation, just presses his face against the Witcher`s neck. Geralt kisses his temple, and allows the moment just to be.

~

The nightmare incident leaves them all shaken. He hasn`t seen terror like that in Jaskier`s face since the beginning, and it rattles him deeply. At the Bard`s insistence they`d left him to his room once everything had calmed, but Geralt can`t shut himself down. The only odd thing they`d felt was a gentle surge of Jaskier`s own magic, but still he goes through the cottage twice, and then once more, searching. Double checking the wards. There`s nothing and no one there.

~

In retrospect he should have expected it, should have prepared for it, but in this moment it doesn`t matter- Jaskier sat frozen and tense on his lap, heartbeat rabbit-quick and breathing panicked. Geralt seizes up, afraid to move, afraid to make the situation any worse than it already is. He doesn`t understand what he`s done wrong, and he stays as still as possible as the Bard slowly pulls Geralt`s hands away from himself.

Jaskier forces a laugh, and it sounds pained. "Let`s try that again, shall we?" His fingers are suddenly at Geralt`s laces, tugging at them ineffectively with shaking hands, and it hurts - _gods_ it hurts- to see him pretending like this. Forcing himself to do something he so clearly doesn`t want to do.

Geralt feels something within him shatter, and he goes to still Jaskier`s hands before they can get any further. "Jaskier, stop. Stop."

" _Fuck_ " He isn`t prepared for the way Jaskier shoves himself harshly off of his lap, furious, and begins to pace the small room.

"I was fine. I was _fine_." He levels the Witcher with a glare and Geralt`s heart sinks. "I was perfectly happy, and then you had to go and- and do _that_. I never. I didn't ask you to do that."

And all at once, Geralt understands. The way Jaskier had sat him down, made such a production of pushing him around. They way he`d frozen when Geralt`s hands had pulled him in during a moment of such vulnerability. Geralt had all but trapped him, had taken away the Bard`s control when he needed it most. "Jaskier.."

"Gods, stop, I don't need that look Geralt, not from you." He throws his arms wide, movements exaggerated. "All you had to was nothing, and we would have been _fine_.

Looking at Jaskier now, the way he`s trembling and just barely holding himself together, Geralt knows it isn`t true. He curses himself for not seeing the signs, for allowing it to get this far. Slowly, he rises from the chair. "You`re not `fine`, though, Jask. It`s okay for you not to be."

It`s the wrong thing to say. Jaskier balks, eyes wide and disbelieving. " _Oh_ \- oh, good, perfect, thanks very much for clearing that up. Cheers for that, Geralt." He snarls out a laugh, and it`s a terrible sound.

"What the fuck good am I if I cant-" Jaskier`s expression crumbles, and it hurts to watch him fight it. All at once he seems to wilt, and when he speaks his voice is small. "Geralt, What the fuck good am I?"

"Fuck, Jaskier, no," The question hits him like a fucking Wyvern, jars him so deeply that for a moment Geralt can`t even think. He takes a step, and is devastated when Jaskier stumbles sharply back, pressing himself against the wall and out of Geralt`s reach.

"I'm sorry, I just." Jaskier`s eyes are wide and apologetic, desperate and pleading. "I need you not to touch me right now, please. I`m sorry. Geralt, I`m sorry."

Geralt wants so desperately to say that _he_ should be the one apologizing, but it isn`t what Jaskier needs to hear, not now. "Do you want me to go?"

" _No_." Jaskier's vehemence surprises him. "Don`t go. Please."

"I won`t. Not if you want me to stay." Carefully, Geralt lowers himself, making his body lax. He keeps his arms at his sides, hands open so Jaskier can see they hold no threat. He`ll stay there on his knees for as long as the Bard needs to feel safe again. This whole mess is his fault, just another example of how he`s let Jaskier down, and for that he will atone.

After a while, breathing finally under control, Jaskier allows himself to slip bonelessly down the wall, posture screaming _exhaustion_. "And you thought you were done with `Jaskier`s hilarious sexual misadventures`."

It`s a poor attempt to break the tension, and Geralt doesn`t give it the dignity of laughter. "That`s not what you are to me."

"No?" Jaskier stares down at the rug. "What am I to you?"

Geralt shrugs, decides if there`s any time to be honest, it`s now. "Everything." He doesn't know when it happened, but it had. Somewhere along the line the Bard had wormed his way straight into Geralt`s heart, carving his name so impossibly deep in the muscle that he can feel the ache of it in every beat.

Jaskier glances up sharply, surprise evident in his features. He searches Geralt`s face, and whatever he finds there leaves him rapidly blinking and glancing away. "A questionable life choice as always, Witcher."

Geralt wants to say it was never a choice, not at all, but if it had been he would have made it, time and time again. Instead, he says "Says the Viscount turned Bard," and watches as Jaskier laughs.

~

"Ah, Witcher, you`ve returned just in time." The Barkeep grins and motions him over, and Geralt fights the urge to scowl - fucking Jaskier and his efforts to redefine Geralt`s image. There`d been a time when the Witcher hadn`t been forced to partake in any small talk at all, and tired as he is now he can admit he misses the fear, just a bit.

He stalks up to the bar, raises his chin in greeting, and the Barkeep beams. "Come to collect your Bard?" He jerks a thumb to the small hallway behind the bar. "Keeled right over in the middle of a song not five minutes ago- a little too much ale, if you ask me. Billy`s got him laid out on the cot in back."

Geralt sighs and gives a nod of thanks, heading through the narrow hall to a cramped, dimly lit room. Guilt and sorrow settle in his gut when he sees Jaskier lying prone on the makeshift cot, one arm slung across his middle while the other trails to the floor. He shouldn`t have left him, hadn`t wanted to at first, but Jaskier had insisted upon `time to hone and perfect his craft" before allowing the Witcher to witness his set.

"Fuck." He kneels beside the cot, gently lifting Jaskier`s arm from the ground. The action earns him a soft groan, and Geralt freezes when the unmistakable scent of potent herbs hits him, far stronger than the ale. He`s known Jaskier to have a bit of fun with various herbs and tinctures when the mood struck, but they hadn`t been anything like the cloying and nefarious fragrance he smells on him now.

"Jaskier. Jaskier, I need you to look at me.." He grasps the Bard`s shoulder and gives him a gentle shake, reaches for the nearest candle as Jaskier blinks and stirs. His pupils are blown, the barest sliver of blue surrounding them, and they barely react when Geralt holds the candle close. Alarm makes the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up . "What did you take?"

"Take?" Jaskier makes a weak attempt to push himself up, movements sluggish. He doesn`t struggle when Geralt eases him back with a hand on his chest, just squeezes his eyes closed once more like even the dimly flickering candles are too bright to bear. "Didn`t take anything. Ale."

" _Fuck_." Geralt snarls, slips his arms under Jaskier`s limp body and hefts him gently up. Fury colors his words, makes him tense, but Geralt can`t help it. He`s never believed in Destiny, but he can`t help but feel as though the world is actively trying to drag the Bard down, yanking him back from every bit of progress he manages to make. "You`ve been drugged. We need to get it out of you."

"Not the worst thing that`s been in me though, right Geralt?" Jaskier`s slurring, voice barely there, and Geralt can`t even begin to deal with what he`s just said. He feels Jaskier go completely boneless, head lolling like he hasn`t got the strength to support it.

Geralt storms through the hall, pushes past the small crowd that`s gathered by the bar, and there`s that fear he`d been missing from earlier. "Where`s your fucking healer?" He doesn`t know what this is, some party herb or something with more malicious intent, but he wants it _out_.

The Barkeep blinks, surprised. "House with the garden a ways down the road. The lad alright?" But Geralt is already headed for the door.

"Jaskier, you with me? Jask." He spares a glance as he thunders toward a small house, obviously the healer's. Jaskiers`s eyes are closed, dark circles already forming beneath them, and he doesn't respond. Geralt gives him a sharp shake, fear climbing in his throat. " _Jaskier_ "

Jaskier`s eyes snap halfway open, unfocused as he peers blearily up at Geralt, and the Witcher releases a breath. "Don`t do that. Stay awake."

A softly mumbled "Sorry", barely audible even to Geralt, and Jaskier`s eyes slip closed once more. He doesn`t wake when Geralt kicks the healer`s door until a flustered older woman appears, doesn`t wake when he`s laid out on the bed and examined. He doesn`t even struggle when Geralt props him up so the woman can pour something thick and syrupy down his throat. He`s _barely_ conscious when he`s laid out on his side, heaving and vomiting the syrupy substance into a basin. He calls out for Geralt, voice weak, and falls into something more like actual sleep when the Witcher grabs his hand.

When Geralt asks the healer if she knows what the _fuck_ all that had been, she sadly shakes her head in the affirmative. "Local herb, meant to be used as a sedative. Unfortunately a few of the more unsavory folk around here have taken to using it as a means to ease their way into young ladies` beds. He`ll be alright though, your young man. Just needs a bit of detoxing tea and some rest."

She squeezes Geralt`s arm, comforting. "Stay the night, love. It`s the least I can do, what with my own kin causing you all this trouble."

Once he`s satisified that Jaskier is truly settled, Geralt heads back to the tavern to collect his things and ask around. No one had noticed anyone slip anything into the Bard`s drink, or hover by him with seemingly ill intent. As a matter of fact, the only odd thing they`d noticed at all was the way Jaskier had stared at his lute for just a moment, before flipping the case shut and performing with no instrument at all.

~

Geralt still doesn`t understand what had truly happened at the tavern, but whatever it was has Jaskier completely shutting down. He`s back to those clipped, one word answers, back to pulling away from well-meaning touches. He`s sat in his room for nearly half a day before Geralt hears him muttering to himself and sends Ciri in to investigate, knowing the girl`s presence will be more welcomed than his own at the moment. He doesn`t exactly eavesdrop, per se, but he doesn`t try to direct his hearing elsewhere, either. When it becomes clear that Ciri`s having no better luck getting through to him, Geralt sighs and heads for the room.

"All good?" He looks from Ciri`s miserable face to Jaskier`s, questioning.

Ciri smiles up at him with effort, regret clear in her eyes, and Geralt feels a stab of disappointment in himself for sending her in at all. Ciri loves Jaskier every bit as much as he does, he knows, but it`s easy for him to forget sometimes that she`s only a child, after all. "Jaskier won't tell me what`s wrong."

Geralt watches as Jaskier tenses, flushes from his chest to his neck, and bites out "Melitele, Ciri, because nothing _is_ " It`s the harshest he`s ever heard him speak to the girl, and all three of them know it. Remorse flashes in his eyes, has him looking at the floor.

Geralt frowns, hopes this is an after effect of the herbs still making their way out of his system. "You`re detoxing. You need to eat." He motions for the two of them to follow, turning for the door. "Come on, both of you."

He hears a shuffle as the two begin to rise, then a sharp clap followed by a gasp of pain. Whirls to find Ciri braced against the wall, eyes wide and teary and a hand pressed to her cheek as she stares at Jaskier in something like disbelief. Geralt feels his stomach drop, enraged and more than a little confused as he kneels to comfort the girl. "What the fuck were you _thinking_ , Jaskier."

"No, Ciri, it wasn`t- I didn't." He claps a hand over his mouth, face pale. "That wasn`t me. it wasn`t me."

"There's no one else _here_ , Jaskier." Fuck, he doesn`t know how to handle this, doesn`t know what to say to either one of them. For the life of him he could never have imagined any scenario in which Jaskier might raise his hand to the girl, and Geralt feels cold fear curling in his gut for this side of the Bard he doesn't know. He eases Ciri up, pushes her behind him and out of Jaskier`s reach.

Jaskier shoves himself to his feet shakily, palms out and eyes desperate. "Ciri, I would never hit you. I would never, you have to know that. I _couldn't_." Geralt watches as a horrible kind of realization dawns on his features, and when he speaks his voice is urgent and pleading. "It was Rowan. _Geralt_ , it was Rowan. He's here, you've got to believe me."

Geralt pushes Ciri back as Jaskier steps forward, feels a cold thrill of fear at the conviction in those blue eyes. Says as calmly and evenly as he can, "Rowan is dead."

Jaskier shakes his head violently in the negative. "He was _here_ , Geralt. He was _in this room_. He`s been watching me, following me this whole time. You`ve got to believe me. Please, you`ve got to."

"Geralt, he didn`t mean to." Ciri's voice behind him, thin and watery and afraid.

"This is what he _does_ , Geralt. It's what he did in the beginning- pushes everyone away until it`s only just the two of us. `Til he`s all I`ve got. He gets me alone and then he does what he wants, and he`s doing it again."

"Jaskier…" Geralt can barely hear him past the thudding of his own pulse, the ringing in his ears. Jaskier`s desperation, his determination to get through to them, terrifies him. Rowan is dead; Geralt`s seen it himself and Jaskier knows it. Or at the very least he'd _known_ it.

"Fuck, please-" Jaskier's voice beseeching, his eyes huge and pained. "My songbooks! In all the time we`ve known each other, have you _ever_ known me to let them out of my sight, let alone lose them entirely? He _took_ them, Geralt!"

Stomach sinking, Geralt looks pointedly past him to the room's lone dresser where both books are stacked neatly atop. The very same place they`ve been for days.

Jaskier follows his gaze, and his face goes even paler. "No, no, that wasn`t there. I swear they weren't there." He doubles over, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing hard as though he needs a moment to catch his breath. And when he rises, he holds a knife.

"Jaskier." Geralt swallows, throat dry. The world seems distant, frozen in time. "Give me the knife. Please."

"I didn`t…" Jaskier looks horrified, stares at the knife in his hands like he`s never seen it before. "I didn't _do_ this, Geralt. I don`t know where it came from."

Geralt doesn`t trust himself to respond to that, so he just steps forward cautiously and slowly slides the knife out of Jaskier`s grip. He doesn`t know what to do, doesn`t know if Jaskier presents an actual threat to them at all, but he can see the way this situation goes if he does. If Jaskier attacks him, Geralt truly doesn`t know if he`s got it within himself to fight back. If something were to happen to him because of his inability to harm the Bard, Ciri would be left alone with Jaskier in this state. Geralt doesn`t understand what`s happening, but he knows, _knows_ he can`t allow that to happen.

"You`re not staying here tonight, Ciri." Yennefer had remained in town for a night or two, and it`s there that he will take the girl. Eyes locked on Jaskier, he lays out his plan of action as calmly as he can. "I`m taking her to Yennefer. We`ll talk this through when I get back, I promise."

"Please don`t leave me." Fear, plain as day on Jaskier`s face, and for the first time Geralt is the cause of it. "Geralt, Geralt, please don`t leave me here alone. I need you to believe me. I`m not crazy, I swear it."

And fuck, _fuck_ , that hurts, twists like a knife in Geralt`s chest. "I know. I know you`re not. But you`re not well right now, Jaskier."

"Geralt…" He flinches as though he`s been struck, and all at once it`s like the wind`s been knocked out of him. Geralt can`t bring himself to meet the shocked hurt in Jaskier`s eyes. For all the pain he sees, he may as well have stared him dead in the face while shoving a knife straight into Jaskier`s back.

He shakes his head, begins to lead Ciri to the front door before he can talk himself out of it. Every step he takes feels like a fucking mile. "Ciri`s safety is my priority, always. I know it`s yours as well. Promise me you`ll stay here, Jaskier. I`ll return as quickly as I can."

It`s maybe the worst thing he`s ever had to do. Geralt feels like screaming, like destroying something, feels like he`s abandoning Jaskier on top of that mountain all over again. He reaches for the Bard`s hand, aching, and brushes a kiss against sharp knuckles as Jaskier watches with numb detachment. "Be safe, Jaskier. Try to get some sleep until I get back. Please."

He pushes himself out the door before he can change his mind, rushes the pair of them to the small stables. Fear for Jaskier and wrenching remorse tear at him, but he takes one look at Ciri`s frightened face and knows it`s the right decision to make. They prepare the horses quickly, and ride.

~~~

He can smell the blood, the sharp ozone scent of powerful magic, before he even sees the cottage.

Geralt urges Roach faster, doesn`t wait for the mare to come to a full stop before he`s slipping off and headed for the door, sword in hand. He turns the handle but it doesn`t budge, scraping and thudding against something heavy on the other side, and Geralt shoulders it open with such force that whatever it is goes skidding to crash against the farthest wall.

"Geralt of Rivia, as I live and breathe. I am just _delighted_ you could finally join us." A musical voice has his head snapping to the open door of Jaskier`s room. Fear for the bard carries his feet quickly, has him over the threshold in seconds with his sword outstretched. He`s met, of all things with a smile.

The Mage speaks, but all Geralt can see is Jaskier. He`s laid out on the bed with his head in Rowan`s lap, pale and unmoving, lashes dark against the pallor of his skin as the Mage runs his fingers almost lovingly through his hair. His face and neck are smeared and tacky and drying blood, the shoulder of his chemise similarly darkened, but Geralt can`t find the source of it. His heartbeat is so sluggish that for an awful moment Geralt actually thinks him dead until he`s finally reassured by a muted _thud-thud_.

Jaw clenched, knuckles aching from the force of his grip on the sword, Geralt cuts his gaze to Rowan. A dead man, sat before him with Geralt`s own heart cradled in his lap. "Step away from him, and I may consider cleaving your head from your neck with one stroke instead of twenty."

"Oh, I _like_ that." The Mage laughs, eyes sparkling. The movement causes his shirt to pull to one side, and Geralt zeroes in on the bloodied bandage covering one shoulder. He feels a fierce rush of pride at the evidence of Jaskier's having fought back. "So gruff and manly, you are! I can see why he likes you."

Geralt growls and steps forward, but a glint of silver at Jaskier`s throat has him stopping in his tracks. The Mage tilts his head and directs a smile at Geralt that`s very nearly fond. "Your instincts are sweet, darling, but I don`t think they`re going to have the intended effect."

"What do you want with him?" Geralt`s entire body aches with the effort it takes not to move. "How the _fuck_ are you here?"

"My goodness, me, the language on you." Rowan smiles as if they`re familiar, as if they`re friends, and Geralt`s stomach turns. "No need to concern yourself over the state of my Julian, he`s perfectly unharmed. Well, _physically_ unharmed." He taps his finger in the center of Jaskier`s forehead with force, creates the smallest of indentations in his skin with the crescent of his nail. "I`m afraid he`s just going to require a bit more time in here before I`m satisfied he`s learned his lesson. But no matter. Time can stretch so _slowly_ in the mind, did you know that, Geralt? It really is fascinating."

Geralt clenches and unclenches his fists around the hilt of his sword, can`t stop staring at where Rowan`s fingertip presses against Jaskier`s skin. He`d left him to this. When Jaskier had needed his protection and support more than ever, more than _anything_ , Geralt had left him frightened and alone to the mercy of a mad man. He should have believed him. He should have believed him.

"As for how I`m here.." Rowan`s voice draws his gaze upward, and he smiles at whatever it is he finds in Geralt`s expression. "May I tell you a secret, Geralt? People are astoundingly easy to trick if you merely show them what they want to see. All they need is the slightest whisper of influence, and poof!" He mimes an explosion with his hand. "I barely have to work at all."

"The body I saw," Geralt growls. "It smelled like you."

Rowan waves a dismissive hand. "Parlor tricks. A simple glamour and a rather unfortunate cellmate. As for the scent, well. I think you`ve rather got firsthand experience with people covered in my scent, haven`t you? I only had to make it a bit more _all-encompassing_ in order to fool the nose of a Witcher."

"The fucking _wards_. How." Everything else aside, Rowan never should have been able to get past them.

At that, the Mage grins, a feral thing. "Why, you invited me in, Geralt. Did you not know? The moment your Witch altered the wards to recognize dear Julian`s magic." He trails his fingertips along Jaskier`s cheek, eyes fond. "I gifted him with that magic. We`re the same, he and I; two halves of one whole."

"He`s nothing _fucking_ like you," Geralt spits, furious. Furious at the Mage, at himself for never considering that possibility. How many times had they felt the thrum of Rowan`s magic and thought it to be Jaskier`s? How long had they been oblivious to his presence as he toyed with the Bard right in front of them?

The Mage ignores him, continues to run his hand through Jaskier`s hair. "I`ve got another secret, but you must promise me you won`t get upset. Do you promise, Geralt?" He makes his eyes go wide, beseeching, a stomach-turning imitation of innocence.

Geralt sneers, but schools his features as Rowan tightens his grip pointedly in Jaskier`s hair. Lips flat against his teeth, a mockery of a grin, he grinds out "I promise."

"I`m so glad. Now, I`ve gone through a lot of trouble waiting for you to return just to make sure you understand this, so I trust you`ll listen carefully." The Mage leans in conspiratorially. "The secret, Geralt, is that you are going to allow me to take my pet back without so much as a whisper of protest. When we`re gone you`ll leave us be, just as Destiny intended."

"Why the _fuck_ would I do that?"

He watches, tense, as Rowan traces the blade softly, almost lovingly down to the hollow of Jaskier`s throat. His tone is saccharine and soft as he smiles down at the unconscious bard. "Because I`ve bonded him to me. Julian gave me the idea himself when he gave me this." The Mage gestures to his injured shoulder. "And so now, we`re tethered. You know what that means, don`t you Geralt? Tell me what it means."

Geralt heaves a breath in an attempt to calm himself, but it`s a lost effort. He clenches his jaw against the urge to scream, to fucking _rage_ , because if Rowan has truly bound Jaskier to himself, then he`s untouchable. Geralt can`t hurt him without hurting Jaskier, can`t kill him without taking the Bard`s life as well. " _Fuck_ you."

Rowan smiles, and the mask of manic glee slips just enough for Geralt to see the true monster that had held Jaskier all those months. Eyes flat and cold, devoid of any emotion. Devoid of life. "Wonderful. Now that you understand the rules, I'm afraid I`m going to teach you both a lesson. Not strictly necessary, of course, but you know. We all like our fun."

He pushes Jaskier`s head harshly from his lap and springs from the bed with a flourish, eases up to Geralt`s side and whispers, "But first, just in case you think me a liar." He draws the thin blade lightly along his forearm, just enough to bleed. Geralt watches with dread as an identical wound opens on Jaskier`s skin.

"Right then!" Rowan squeezes his shoulder, digs his nails pointedly into the muscle as though daring Geralt to protest. When he doesn`t, the Mage smiles. "Pick him up and set him in the main room, won`t you? We're going to need more space for what I`ve got in mind."

He tilts his head, considering. "Oh, and Geralt? Do be a dear and don`t try anything clever. I`d love to see you try and keep us both from bleeding out if I find myself in the position of having to slit my own throat, but I just don`t think you`re fast enough, darling."

~

It`s a while before Geralt`s been restrained to Rowan`s liking. He`s gagged and kneeling on the floor, arms stretched and bound painfully behind his back. His neck and ankles have been similarly wrapped, and all three points of contact are tied to one another with a shorter length of rope so Geralt can`t straighten or stand without strangling himself. All of his weapons are laid out before him, spanning the table that separates him from Jaskier.

"Lovely." Rowan pats him sharply on the cheek. "Let`s get on with it, then."

He rounds the table, stares down at Jaskier covetously for a moment before reaching down and caressing the line of his jaw. "It`s time to wake up, pet." Rowan bends, brushes his lips against the Bard`s, and all at once Jaskier is jerking awake.

" _Fuck_." Raw terror flashes through Jaskier`s eyes as he takes in the scene before him. His entire face falls when his eyes meet Geralt`s, despairing and agonized, and it`s the most hopeless the Witcher has ever seen him look. When he speaks, his tone is resigned, exhausted. " _Please_ not again. Don`t make me watch this again."

"I`m afraid you`ve got no choice, love." Rowan offers him a gentle smile, pained like it hurts him to do this. He puts a hand on either side of Jaskier`s face and guides it up for a kiss. When Jaskier doesn`t respond, his fists pressed uselessly against the Mage`s chest and his mouth slack, Rowan tenses. He bites down on Jaskier`s lower lip with a growl, drawing blood and a yelp of pain.

Geralt surges forward, furious, but is barely allowed an inch of give before the rope begins to tighten around his neck. He chokes, wheezing, and tries to rip his hands from their bonds to no avail.

"Now, now." Rowan, unlike Jaskier, doesn`t so much as look in Geralt`s direction. He grabs a handful of Jaskier`s hair and _tugs_ until those wide blue eyes snap back to meet his. The Mage leans in once more with a pointed sneer, and this time Jaskier haltingly returns the kiss, eyes squeezed shut and the lines of his body tense and shaking.

And fuck, Geralt`s not felt rage like this in his entire _life_ , igniting him from within. He`s going to kill him. He`ll get them out of this and then he`ll slaughter the Mage slowly, agonizingly, drawing it out until he sees the same level of fear in Rowan`s eyes that he can see in Jaskier`s now. He`ll dedicate his fucking _life_ to it if he has to.

Across the room, Rowan releases Jaskier roughly, shoving him back against the lounge with such force that the back of his head smacks into the wall. He sighs dramatically as though he`s being put-upon. "Now _really_ pay attention this time, won`t you, pet? One last time with no interruptions, and we`ll never have to do this one again. Understood?"

Jaskier swallows and draws his knees slowly to chest, his eyes never leaving the Mage`s as he wraps his arms around them like he`s afraid to make a wrong move. His voice is so small, so broken that Geralt`s heart breaks right along with it. "Do you promise? _Please_. Please."

"I promise." Rowan smiles and ruffles Jaskier`s hair affectionately before turning to Geralt with a flourish. The moment his back is to the Bard his smile melts, eyes going cold and flat.

He drops to his knees beside the Witcher, mouth to Geralt`s ear, and whispers, "Don`t expect him to try and intervene, darling. He`s seen this scenario played out so many times and in so many ways, you could hardly blame him for not understanding that this one is real." The Mage`s lips brush against the shell of Geralt`s ear, and he flinches. "I hope you didn`t believe I had him dreaming of just _any_ old thing this whole time."

Grinning, Rowan eases to his feet. He twists to consider Geralt`s weapons, lips pursed in concentration before finally selecting a dagger. Without ceremony, he swipes it first along Geralt`s right cheek, and then his left, cutting straight cross his ear. Pain flares, but all Geralt can do is stare at Jaskier`s agonized face. He tries to communicate that it`s okay, that he`s fine, but the fucking gag in his mouth prevents him.

"Hmm. What do you think, pet? Is it a good look?" Rowan slices a long line from Geralt`s shoulder to his ribs, lets the tip of the blade linger against his skin as though he can`t make up his mind. With a decisive hum he bares his teeth, pulls the dagger back and plunges it deep into Geralt`s gut, twisting.

Geralt doubles over with a groan before he can help himself, his body attempting to curl protectively around the source of excrutiating pain. The rope around his neck stops him, cuts off his air with a sharp jerk and leaves him choking and gasping for breath. Rowan smiles and twists the blade a little more, and it`s with horror that Geralt begins to detect the heavy scent of arousal.

" _Fffuck_!" Jaskier`s voice, thick with tears. Hand buried in his hair so tightly his knuckles have turned white, eyes wide and despairing, he scrambles to his knees. "Stop, Rowan, please stop hurting him. Please. Whatever, you want I`ll do it, but _please_ don`t hurt him again."

It clearly isn`t what Rowan wants to hear. Rage contorts his features, has him snarling. He pulls the knife across slowly, ripping flesh as Geralt`s vision goes dark with the effort it takes to hold himself upright. "What have I told you about interrupting me, Julian? You`ll only make things worse."

Past the ringing in his ears, Geralt can just barely make out Jaskier`s sob. It takes a moment for his vision to mostly clear, and he has trouble focusing on where the Bard has obviously begun to hyperventilate. Head bowed, he`s repeating a wheezing manta of _please wake up please wake up please wake up_ , but it falls upon deaf ears.

"You`ll have to forgive him, Geralt, Julian can be a bit dramatic even at the best of times." Rowan jerks the dagger from his gut with a flourish, huffs a soft laugh when Geralt slumps forward, vision graying. The Mage grabs a handful of his hair before he can choke himself on the rope, pulls Geralt`s head back at a severe angle to watch him with flat eyes.

"You know, I had intended to allow you to live, but I think I`ve rather changed my mind. The heart wants what it wants, darling, and mine just isn`t very fond of my pet`s fixation on you." Rowan pouts, mock apologetic as Geralt fights to stay focused. He has to stay awake, has to do something. To give in is to fail Jaskier and he can`t-

Geralt snaps awake, a hand in his hair and a knife at his throat. Someone is screaming. He-

He wakes lying on his side, desperately trying to bow his back so the rope will slacken and allow him to breathe. There is a struggle beside him- Jaskier braced above Rowan, expression feral as he grips either side of the Mage`s face in his hands and smashes his head against the floor- once, twice. His hands start to glow-

He`s screaming, sound torn from deep within his throat as unrelenting pressure crushes him, asking for a way in, looking for permission. Fading, Geralt gives it, is lit from within as the pressure dissipates and his body expands, bigger than he`s ever been, _more_ than he`s ever been, and all he knows is warmth and love and sorrow. Tears prick at his eyes and-

Someone kisses his brow. Warm drops of liquid falling softly to his cheek. An agonized whisper - _forgive me. I love you._ \- and calloused fingertips trembling as they brush against his face.

~

Geralt wakes lying next to a pile of dust, scorch marks in the shape of a body on the carpet and ash shadowing the walls. He feels strangely at peace, feels better and more rested than he`s felt in his _life_. He sits up with ease to find he`s been covered with a thick blanket, a pillow slipped beneath his head. A mug full of water rests on the floor by his side, and Geralt nearly knocks it over in his haste to grab it. He drinks from it greedily as he tries to remember how in the flying fuck he`d gotten here.

And all at once, it hits him. Jaskier. Rowan.

" _Jask_." Geralt rushes to his feet, eyes wild as he searches for any sign of the Bard. He remembers Jaskier's whispered "Forgive me. I love you." Remembers the sorrow in those _blue-blue_ fucking eyes as they shone with tears. Remembers Jaskier tucking him in with too-cautious hands.

Geralt remembers the way he`d pleaded for Jaskier to stay, his voice barely above a whisper, and he remembers the way that Jaskier had walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I`m bailiwickles on tumblr if y`all are boredddd. Also clearly I don`t know how to post a link.


	3. The Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You know," The Mage drawls, unmoved, and Jaskier can barely hear him speak for the ringing in his ears. "I had intended to allow you to live, but I think I`ve rather changed my mind. The heart wants what it wants, darling, and mine just isn`t very fond of my pet`s fixation on you."_

" _Please wake up please wake up please wake up_ " Gods, fuck, he can`t breathe, can`t tear himself out of this nightmare no matter how hard he tries. Geralt groaning and wheezing, Rowan`s long shaking breaths. The wet, muted sound of flesh being torn. Jaskier braves a glance through the careful prison of his fingers, forces himself to focus past the blurring of tears.

Geralt, so, so pale, covered in blood and viscera. He`s swallowing hard in an effort to control the pain, still attempting measured breaths even as Rowan tangles a cruel hand in his hair, yanking his head back when the Witcher sways and begins to slump. And it`s not real, it can`t be real, but something about the way Geralt`s throat works for air makes Jaskier want to scream, so he does.

He wants to tear Rowan`s evil fucking hands off of Geralt`s body, wants to whisk the Witcher away from all this _shit_ , bring himself someplace safe and quiet and warm. He wants him whole and healed and untouchable; no longer a body meant to be broken, to be sacrificed for the sake of others. For the sake of Jaskier. He`d wanted so badly for Geralt to remain untainted by the Mage`s cruelty, and the sight of him now, helpless and hurting and at Rowan`s mercy, tears at something deep within Jaskier`s chest.

"You know," The Mage drawls, unmoved, and Jaskier can barely hear him speak for the ringing in his ears. "I had intended to allow you to live, but I think I`ve rather changed my mind. The heart wants what it wants, darling, and mine just isn`t very fond of my pet`s fixation on you."

He yanks Geralt`s head back just that much further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. It`s with dread, more horror than Jaskier`s ever felt in his _life_ , that he watches as Geralt gives in to unconsciousness just as the knife kisses his skin.

Jaskier is screaming and launching himself at the Mage before he even realizes what he`s doing. He tears Rowan away, off of the man who means more to him than anything, this man he loves with his whole heart.

He`s growling, something wild and forceful growing in his chest as he tackles Rowan to the ground. He can barely see for all the rage he feels as he takes the Mage`s head in his hands, crushing, nails digging into fragile skin as he slams it down against the floor. The terrible thing within him growing, he pulls Rowan`s head back up and slams it down again, slams it over and over and doesn`t enough realize his hands have begun to glow until the Mage stops fighting and starts _screaming_.

Jaskier screams back just as loud, screams right in his face, spraying spittle and blood as his hands glow brighter and brighter until Jaskier can see nothing but light. He screams, pushes that awful energy out of his body and into Rowan, and watches with fierce pleasure as the Mage is _UNMADE_. He`s crumbling, falling away and exploding outward into the ether, and he isn`t sure how but Jaskier grabs the retreating essence and pulls it back to himself before it can escape. He cries out in agony as he forces his body to carve out space for this new entity, but he knows with everything in him that it`s _his_ \- his to take and his to give - and so he doesn`t let it go until the last vestiges of power snap into place and no trace of Rowan remains.

Heaving, reeling, Jaskier scrambles on his knees toward Geralt, locating the bloodied knife and severing the rope at the Witcher`s back so he can finally take a breath, but he doesn`t. He`s fading, losing the fight to remain tethered to his body. Jaskier can feel him leaving the same way he`d _forced_ Rowan to, and he panics.

"Geralt, Geralt, fuck." He sobs as he pulls the Witcher into his lap, desperate and fucking _aching_. Geralt can`t leave, he _can`t_ , not after everything and all that they`d been through. Jaskier will not allow it. So he does the only thing he can think of, gathers all that overwhelming energy in his chest, and _pushes_ it into Geralt.

"Please, please." He pleads to the gods, to Geralt, to anyone who might be listening as he places his hand over the Witcher`s heart, willing it to beat once more. "Please don`t leave me." Jaskier won`t survive it, doesn`t want to even if he could.

And suddenly, beautifully, Geralt begins to breathe.

"Fuck!" Jaskier shatters, tears streaming freely down his burning face as he pulls the Witcher in close, cradles him tight against his chest and feels the beating of Geralt`s heart through his shirt. He kisses his hair, his forehead, his cheeks, over and over again with grateful sobs as the Witcher`s eyes slowly begin to flutter. He`s alive, really truly alive. Geralt`s alive and _real_ and whole in Jaskier`s arms, and he`s so relieved he can barely breathe.

"Shhh, hey, hey, it`s okay, you`re okay." Jaskier thumbs away the tears threatening to fall down Geralt`s cheeks, does his best to smile when all he wants to do is fucking cry. Geralt is blinking up at him dazedly, concern creasing his brow, and Jaskier nearly loses it when the Witcher reaches up to place an unsteady on his cheek as though trying to comfort him.

Jaskier grabs that beloved hand desperately, presses kisses to Geralt`s palm. "It`s okay, I`m okay. You`re safe now, I promise."

"Jas…" Geralt squeezes his eyes shut then snaps them open wide, clearly trying to focus. "What-"

Shaking, heart pounding out of his chest, Jaskier does his best to appear calm. "It`s nothing, it`s nothing. You just have to rest, alright? Just rest for me, love." Unable to help himself, he kisses Geralt`s forehead again before laying him gently down. The Witcher protests with a soft mumble, but Jaskier just shushes him and brushes his hair back from his face.

Jaskier rises on unsteady legs, and it`s like he`s floating, breath stuttering in his chest, catching in his throat. His hands are shaking so badly when he retrieves a pillow and blanket from his room that he drops them at least thrice before he reaches Geralt. He thinks maybe he`s in shock, but he can`t concentrate long enough to confirm it.

Gently, Jaskier lifts Geralt`s head like the precious thing that it is, slipping the pillow beneath. He tucks the blanket around the Witcher with fluttering, too-light touches, afraid to make contact, afraid of breaking him. He stumbles to his knees on his way to retrieve a mug of water from the small kitchen, and stares numbly at the blood on the floor that he recognizes to be his own. He pushes on.

Jaskier half collapses as he places the water by Geralt`s side. Carefully, so as not to harm, he presses the lightest of kisses to Geralt`s brow. He has to go. He has to go. He just prays Geralt will understand.

"Forgive me," He whispers. "I love you."

Geralt`s face crumbles in confusion and concern. He reaches out as though to stop Jaskier from rising, but his coordination is shaky "Why-" Wide amber amber eyes follow Jaskier to the door, and the bewilderment in them breaks his fucking heart. "Don`t leave. Please."

And fuck, _fuck_ , Jaskier wants to stay more than anything he`s ever wanted, never wants Geralt to leave his eyesight ever again. But he can`t stay here. Not anymore. Not after what he`s done. He turns away so he doesn`t have to see the betrayed look in Geralt`s eyes as he walks out the door.

He makes it as far as the woods before he collapses.

~

Two days into his aimless traveling, Jaskier discovers the shack. He lets himself inside with shaking hands, crashes to the hardwood floor. He sleeps through the whole next day.

~

Setting camp without Geralt is tedious. Jaskier had taken for granted how much the Witcher had always looked out for him - lighting fires and gathering supplies, hunting for their dinner all while Jaskier played around on his fucking lute.

He misses him. Misses Ciri and Yen, the little cottage they`d called home. He`d gotten so used to being surrounded by warmth that he`d been spoiled by it, and as much as he loathes it Jaskier needs to teach himself how to be alone. He can`t go back, not with this thing inside of him. Not when Geralt had nearly died just for being someone Jaskier loved. He`s not sure if he could face them even if he _could_ go back, not sure if he`d ever be able to look Geralt in the eye.

Jaskier curses himself, kicks over the small piles of sticks that he`s failed to light. One more cold night.

~

Yennefer finds him the next day, and Jaskier can`t even look at her. He sinks to the ground, hugs his knees as she brushes his hair from his face, cursing and fussing as she tries to draw him into conversation. It isn`t until she summons a portal and announces her intention to bring him back that Jaskier snaps out of it, heart racing.

" _No_!" He grabs the hem of her skirt, pleading. "No, Yen, please, I can`t. I can`t go, don`t make me go. Please." Jaskier can`t bear it, the thought of what might happen, of the pain and horror he`ll see in Geralt`s eyes. It`s enough just to know what he`s done, who he`s become. He can`t make himself face it.

He isn`t aware that he`s sobbing until he feels Yennefer`s arms around him, rocking him. Her voice is watery as she promises him, swears to him that she`ll never make him do anything he doesn`t want to do, but he has to take care of himself. She feeds him, that night, stays with him. Conjures up days’ worth of supplies.

When Jaskier is finally calm enough for rational conversation, Yennefer reluctantly gives in to his requests. She promises not to let Geralt know where he is so long as he looks after himself, and hands him a charm with which to summon her if he ever needs help. Jaskier thanks her with a kiss on the cheek, and asks her to pass both the kiss and his apology to Ciri and Geralt. He doesn`t watch her when she leaves.

The days pass. They carry Jaskier with them. Little by little, he comes back to himself.

~

Just over a week since the cottage, and Jaskier's so fucking exhausted he could sob. He's miserable, lonelier than he's ever been, and he can't bring himself to dispute the fact that he probably deserves it. Aside from his poorly executed plan to keep as far away from Geralt as humanly possible, he`s got no clue where he should be going or what he should be doing, so he doesn`t do much of anything at all.

He sighs and lets himself drop to the ground outside his little shelter with a graceless thud, wincing when his trousers catch and tear on a wayward branch. Jaskier glares at the offending limb balefully, as though it should have known that this is no time for antics. "Was that absolutely necessary?"

"Not the healthiest of behaviours, is it? Speaking to one's self?"

Jaskier tenses, a cold thrill of alarm running through him at the sudden unexpected voice. He attempts to school himself, does his best to appear casual. "Yeah, well, I`ve not exactly been the model of mental health of late, so. Figured I`d just lean into it."

Jaskier watches impassively as Yennefer delicately folds herself to the ground before him. Her violet eyes are solemn, and he knows his fear has not gone unnoticed. "Why are you here, Yennefer? I`ve already told you-"

"Yes, yes, you won`t join us and you don`t want to see him." She waves his concern away, impatient. "I know. Had it ever occurred to you that _I_ might be interested in your wellbeing?"

Jaskier deflates a bit at that. His current sense of self-worth notwithstanding, Jaskier knows her concern for him to be genuine. She`s proven it enough, time and time again. "Fuck, I`m sorry, Yen. I know you are, it`s just…"

"I know." She reaches out and squeezes his hand with a small smile, and Jaskier gratefully returns the gesture. "How have you been, Jaskier, really."

"I`m surprised you ask. Does my calm and collected appearance not speak for itself?" Jaskier indicates himself with a flourish, knows he looks a mess. Hair wild, the beginnings of a decent beard itching along his jaw. Paler than he`s ever been, and that`s saying something. Last he`d checked, the bags underneath his eyes had been so dark they`d nearly appeared to be purple.

Yennefer huffs a quiet laugh, but Jaskier doesn`t miss the there-and--gone-again flash of pain in her eyes. "If I gave you something to help you sleep, would you take it?" But she already knows the answer.

" _Absolutely_ fucking not, no." The idea of drugging himself into sleep, trapping himself in a state from which he won`t be able to wake, nearly makes his skin crawl. Images of Geralt screaming as he`s torn apart, visions of Rowan`s smile. "I see enough awful shit when I`m awake these days, I don`t need…"

Jaskier clenches his jaw, makes himself shut up before that trail of thought leads him straight into the fucking abyss. He shakes his head, but it doesn`t do much to clear it. "Thank you, but no."

They pass a few moments in silence, Jaskier staring at the ground while Yennefer unpacks her satchel, quietly pushing the items in his direction. It`s enough food for a week, maybe more, and Jaskier begins to voice his protest but cuts himself off as Yennefer hands him a neatly folded letter. He knows who it`s from.

"I`m not going to be able to keep him away much longer, Bard. You know how he is. I don`t have to tell you how furious he is with me for keeping him from you"

No, she doesn`t. Guilt weighs heavy in his gut when he thinks about the burden he`s placed upon her. The burden he`s placed upon everyone. He swallows against the lump in his throat, tries not to think of golden eyes and calloused hands. "I know, and I appreciate it, truly. It`s just. He deserves better, Yen."

"Better than _this_? This waiting? Yes. Better than _you_?" Yennefer shakes her head, disapproval clear in her expression. "Don`t be an idiot, Jaskier. He loves you."

And maybe it`s true. But it isn`t enough. Not after everything Jaskier`s put him through, after everything he`s done. He won`t subject Geralt to that kind of pain again, not ever. For all that the Witcher is strong, he`s also so unbelievably _soft_ , so deeply deserving of peace and kindness, of someone who can be soft in return. Jaskier is no longer soft. He`s a hollow, jagged thing, broken and lost and ugly. Just another one of Geralt`s monsters. 

Something must show on his face, or perhaps she`s picked up on his thoughts, because Yennefer reacts with violence. She reaches over and slaps him on the arm, hard. "Stop it." 

"Ow, fuck, fine. Just keep your terrifying witch strength to yourself, if you please." Even if Yennefer doesn`t, Jaskier knows what he is. He knows what Geralt deserves, and it isn`t him. Not anymore. 

Yennefer scowls, and just as she opens her mouth to retort her eyes go distant. The moment they snap back into focus, she sighs. "Geralt. They`re breaking camp. I`ve got to get back." She stands, brushing the dust from her skirt. "Be well, Bard. And eat something before you pass out, you look like a fucking scarecrow." Before Jaskier can respond, she`s gone. 

An aching kind of loneliness sweeps over him the instant that he`s left, and Jaskier tries to pretend that he doesn`t welcome it just a bit. He lets himself fall back with a thud, leaves and twigs making their homes in his hair as he studies the letter in his hand. He flips it over through his fingers, once, twice. Tries not feel as though his heart is breaking, ripping itself in two. Tries to tell himself that it`s better like this, that he deserves to be alone and Geralt`s better off without him anyway. That whatever they might have had before, it`s over now, and there`s no need to read the letter at all. 

Before he can help himself, he`s unfolding it. A single question scratched across the paper in Geralt`s peculiar scrawl- " _Why won`t you see me_?" 

It isn`t the first letter Jaskier`s gotten like this. Just like the others, he writes no response. 

~ 

He`s yet to discuss it with Yennefer for reasons they`re both ignoring, but Jaskier can feel his magic slowly growing stronger. And it _is_ Jaskier`s now, his and his alone - no longer an unwelcome entity he`s been forced to carry against his will. The moment Rowan had died he`d unintentionally claimed it as his own, and while it no longer feels like a burden, he`s got no clue what to do with it. 

For the most part he can suppress it, subdue it, but there have been moments occurring with more and more frequency where it`s beyond his control, and the lack of sleep isn`t helping. Each time he gives into the pull, does his best to get a hold of it, he`s left more frustrated than when he`d begun. It`s like a song he can`t quite remember how to sing, a tune he knows he could play if only he had the right instrument. It follows him like a shadow, and any time he feels brave enough to cast some light upon it, it disappears. 

He wishes, not for the first time, that he could discuss it with Geralt. The way he sometimes feels the strumming of things, notes suspended in time. How the small stream by his shack can feel like a song that`s bright with life, a thousand different instruments being played at once that absolutely shouldn`t work together but somehow do. The way he`ll sometimes hear a discordant note in the back of his mind, knowing it`s wrong- that _something_ is wrong, somewhere- and Jaskier could easily tune it if he could only figure out where the fuck the music had come from. 

And then there`s the occasional pockets of silence. On his fifth day alone, for lack of anything else, Jaskier had given in to the nagging feeling in his gut and decided to investigate it. There`d been an unrelenting buzzing in his ears that had been driving him crazy, and he'd found himself following a narrow path in the woods until the buzzing began to fade and the subsequent silence became suffocating. It hadn`t been until Jaskier saw the body that he'd understood. 

Sorrow churning heavy in his gut, he'd knelt beside the newly deceased corpse. An older man, far past his prime, and from the lack of injuries he`d found and the little makeshift shelter he`d spotted nearby, Jaskier guessed he`d succumbed to old age. He`d never seen the man before, never known him, but that awful hollow silence, the terrible void he`d felt where a life should be instead, had moved him to tears. He'd reached out, unsure of what exactly he intended to do, and the moment he`d touched the old man`s hand Jaskier had been _G O N E_. 

When he`d awoken, the sun had set, and his throat had been scraped raw. The awful silence had finally retreated, replaced by light, rapidly twinkling notes. Jaskier had looked to find the old man covered in flies and ants, each of them contributing to their quiet little symphony. 

He thinks about how close Geralt had come to fading into that void, that nothing. He hasn`t followed the silence since. 

~ 

Jaskier wakes on a sob, drenched in sweat and shaking. Chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. He scrambles to his hands and knees, eyes searching wildly, but there`s nothing. No one. Wherever he is, somewhere far away from Jaskier, Geralt is safe. 

He knows, _really knows_ this time, that Rowan is dead and gone. But it doesn`t change the nightmares, the terrible thoughts he`ll have sometimes that boast the Mage`s own voice. It doesn`t change the way he`ll catch himself throwing nervous glances over his shoulder or tensing up at even the smallest of sounds. The _only_ thing it changes is that now, on top of everything else, Jaskier is a murderer. He thinks of that awful void, and feels like he`s going to be sick. 

Still shaking, fucking hating himself for it, Jaskier backs himself into the corner of his little shelter and allows his head to fall back against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, makes a valiant effort not to feel sorry for himself. He will not be sleeping this night. It`s the absolute least that he deserves. 

~ 

A few more days of fitful rest and similar nightmares, and Jaskier thinks he understands why Geralt had been so desperate to find the Djinn. 

~

Jaskier`s never been great at knowing his own limits, but at this point he`s got no choice but to get well fucking acquainted with them. He`s exhausted. Every little thing feels like too much for him to handle. Nightmares when he`s asleep, flashing images when he`s awake. Or, gods, _fuck_ , he _hopes_ that they`re only images. He isn`t sure anymore. For all he knows, all of this - the lack of sleep, the insistent pull of magic, the isolation - maybe it`s all an elaborate trick. Maybe he`d been wrong in thinking Rowan dead, after all. He`d been so certain before, but now… 

"Fuck. Fuck." Jaskier buries his head in hands, unsure whether he wants to pull himself together or shut himself down. He just wants it to stop. He needs it to stop. He needs _help_. Something, anything, anyone. 

Really, he thinks, he just needs Geralt. 

~ 

Jaskier is in no condition to fight, but he braces himself just the same as the sound of footsteps draws near. Too deliberate to be that of an animal, too heavy to be Yen. Jaskier shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of some of the fuzziness and clutches the stone he wields more tightly in anticipation of an attack. 

Twin shadows darken his doorstep for just a moment, and Jaskier holds his breath as the door creaks slowly open. And his heart fucking _stops_. 

Geralt, whole and beautiful and alive and _pissed_ , poorly restrained anger in the line of his jaw, the clench of his fists as they flex by his sides. And Jaskier has prepared for this, for everything he would do and say to push the Witcher away, to keep him separate and safe, but the moment he opens his mouth to try, Jaskier fucking _breaks_. 

Geralt thunders forward, catches Jaskier just as his knees begin to buckle and hauls him up as he sobs. He pulls him in tight, and his voice is thick as he mutters into Jaskier`s hair, "I`m so _fucking_ angry with you." But he doesn`t sound angry, he sounds sad and hurt and afraid, and Jaskier clings to him. 

He doesn`t want to push him away anymore. Not now, not with Geralt held tight against him, steady and comforting and solid. He`d never wanted this pain for either of them; he`d only ever wanted to keep Geralt safe, so he`d done it the best way he knew how. "I`m sorry, I`m so sorry. Please don`t hate me." 

Geralt laughs, and it`s a wet, broken thing. "I couldn`t hate you if I fucking wanted to. I _have_ wanted to." He squeezes Jaskier tight, presses his lips to his temple and holds them there like he`s reluctant to stop. "Jaskier, you fucking idiot, why did you _leave_?" 

But Jaskier doesn`t have a good answer, not anymore. He just holds Geralt tighter, hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt, and mumbles into the Witcher`s chest, "I`m sorry, I`m sorry," until Geralt eventually shushes him and settles them both to the ground. 

Jaskier wastes no time in scrambling onto Geralt`s lap, and he has to be disgusting, crying and sniffling like he is, but Geralt just takes his face in his hands and kisses him until they both need to stop and catch their breath. He leans his forehead against Jaskier`s, makes a pained noise in the back of his throat when Jaskier places a hand over his heart just to feel the reassuring beat. 

"Don`t do it again." It`s a request and it`s a promise. Geralt kisses him once more, desperate, and Jaskier feels like he could probably die right here and be fine with it. "Promise me. No more running." 

And Jaskier can`t speak, not yet, but he nods and surges forward to kiss Geralt again, buries his hands in his hair, soft. Tries to block the memory of more malicious, twisting hands in those very same strands. Geralt must understand what he`s thinking, because he pauses to release a shaky breath against Jaskier`s lips. 

"I`m okay." He pulls his head back until Jaskier meets his eyes, and all he can see is sincerity and love and gentle frustration. "I`m fine, Jaskier." 

Jaskier has to look away then, stare down at Geralt`s chest instead because, "You weren't, though." His voice sounds so fucking small, and Jaskier tries to give it some strength. "He hurt you. I _watched_ him hurt you." 

"Fuck, Jask." Geralt sighs and and knocks his forehead against Jaskier`s, like a cat. "How could you have known it was real, after what that _fucking_ monster-" He stops himself, takes a breath. "You couldn`t have known. There`s no way you could have known." 

Jaskier doesn`t say _I should have_ , because logically, he understands that there`s no way. But he should have. Geralt had been in danger, and he should have known it was real before it ever got that far. 

"Come back with me. Please." Geralt squeezes his hand. "We`ll stay here tonight, and meet the others tomorrow." 

"You still want that? After everything?" He wants to ask if Geralt still wants _him_ , but he can`t. Can`t be that vulnerable just yet. 

Geralt snorts, but his eyes are so, so kind. He cradles Jaskier`s face in his hand. "You`re an idiot." 

And yeah, alright. Jaskier supposes that he is. 

~ 

Ciri takes him by surprise, catching him around the middle and tackling him to the ground just as they enter camp. She buries her face in his chest as Jaskier wheezes. "I missed you. You smell bad and I missed you." 

"I missed you too." Jaskier lets the quip slide, as hygiene probably hasn`t been as high on his list of priorities as it should. He pulls her in tight, wonders how the sudden ache in his chest can feel so much like healing. He kisses the top of Ciri`s head. "I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?" 

" _Obviously_." She sits up and punches him in the shoulder with a surprising amount of force, and Jaskier makes a show of crying out in protest. She attempts to scowl, but the threat doesn`t quite land. "Don`t do it again, though." 

Jaskier raises his hands in defeat, but try as he might he can`t help but laugh. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he`s smiling so wide that it hurts. He`s smiling, and it`s real. "I won`t. I promise." 

Just behind her, Jaskier can make out Yennefer rolling her eyes, though they`re suspiciously bright. He thinks about another life, another time when they`d somehow managed to hate each other, all cutting and jabbing and snark. Thinks about how it`s much the same now, except all the barbs are harmless, meant to tease instead of hurt. The Witch he`d once been so intimidated by, now perhaps his closest friend. 

He catches Geralt`s gaze next, and the soft affection he finds in the Witcher`s face nearly overwhelms him. How anyone could ever look at the Witcher and feel threatened, Jaskier will never understand. He looks at Geralt and sees _safe_ , sees _warmth_ and _love_ and, alright, maybe more than just a little bit of _bastard_. And fuck, he loves him. More than anything else, he loves him. 

Jaskier`s little family. His home. 

No. He won`t be running away again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for hanging in there with me! And thank you so much to iamq for being an amazing beta and also LITERALLY the reason I finished this at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I legit have not written anything in over ten years (don`t go to college for something you love, kids). Also this is unbeta`d because apparently my anxiety has deemed the judgement of strangers less terrifying than the helpful criticism of friends and family.
> 
> I`m so sorry if you`re English and find my attempt at British-isms horrific. I`m from New Jersey, so please be impressed that I`ve got any grasp of human language at all.


End file.
